


The Trials and Tribulations of Spider-Man, the People's Hero

by a_matter_of_loyalty



Series: The Fork in the Road [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationships, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, F/M, Gen, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Dad, Light Angst, Loki & Peter Parker Friendship, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker & Shuri Friendship, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Avengers, Protective Happy Hogan, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Has A Heart, like the biggest break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-01-27 15:22:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 94,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21394369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_matter_of_loyalty/pseuds/a_matter_of_loyalty
Summary: An assortment of characters ranging from Avengers to high schoolers and everything (not really) in between are summoned to a theatre to watch a certain movie about Queens' beloved web-slinging vigilante.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Loki & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Everyone, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: The Fork in the Road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815667
Comments: 559
Kudos: 2212
Collections: I’m love, Spiderman Fanfiction - Waiting4Update





	1. Where Are We?

_20XX, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION_

Tony Stark groaned and sat up, one hand reaching up to massage his head in an attempt to ease his growing headache. _What the hell happened? _he wondered, eyes still closed. The last thing he remembered was watching the Hulk slam the God of Mischief into the ground like a rag doll and then...

Tony wrenched his eyes open in a panic, the pain lining his muscles and his unawareness of his own location reminding him all too eerily of Afghanistan. _Did we lose? Did Loki do something? _As soon as he had his eyes open, Tony searched around himself frantically, quickly taking in where he was and who was with him.

The first people he saw were the other five Avengers, Director Fury, Agent Hill—and Loki himself. The sight of Loki made Tony freeze for a moment, the phantom terror of free-falling from his tower balcony returning to him in a rush. He quickly realized that Loki, just like the other Avengers and the members of SHIELD, was sprawled out on the floor unconscious, however, which eased his worries slightly.

Tony frowned. As relieved as he was to find out that Loki clearly couldn’t have been behind this, the revelation didn’t help answer any of his questions. He picked himself up off the floor, swallowing down a strangled gasp when his whole body shrieked in pain, and twisted around slowly, eyes greedily drinking in his surroundings.

Aside from the first eight people he found, Tony spotted a number of others scattered throughout the room. His eyes widened in surprise when he easily recognized Pepper, Rhodey and Happy to be among the crowd. _What the...? Why are they here? Are they hurt?_

He forced himself to set his concerns for them aside for the moment as he scanned the rest of the people. In one corner of the room, a group of seven people were gathered: two Africans—a man and a teenage girl—a brunet with a metal arm (_Wait, metal? Am I dreaming? _Tony wondered to himself), a young woman with wavy auburn hair, a dark-skinned man in heavy brown coat, another brunet dressed in flannel, and strangely enough, a red-skinned(_Seriously, red? I must be going insane_) humanoid in a cape.

In another corner laid three teenagers along with his bodyguard and longtime friend, Happy. For some reason, Happy was located all the way to the side of the room, even though Pepper and Rhodey were elsewhere. The teenagers didn’t look like anything special—Tony had to wonder why they were here, too, amidst superheroes and super-spies and, apparently, men with red skin. Two of the kids, a girl with curly hair and a heavyweight boy with possibly Filipino roots, looked as if they had just come from school, what with their casual t-shirts and book bags. The third teenager, on the other hand, looked worse for wear: his hair was unkempt and matted with blood, his pale skin was bruised in odd places, and he was dressed messily in a pair of ripped jeans and a bloodied hoodie.

_Jesus, _Tony thought to himself, a pang of worry shooting through him despite himself, _what on Earth happened to that kid?_

Tony was drawn out of his sympathy by a muttered curse a few feet away from him. He jerked back to alertness, eyes swiveling back around only to come face-to-face with Natasha Romanoff regaining consciousness.

“Tony?” Natasha blinked once, then twice. Her eyes narrowed as if she had just processed their current situation. “What happened? Where are we?” she demanded in quick succession.

“No idea,” Tony replied, “and, uh, no idea for the second question, too.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, visibly unimpressed. “Who else is here?”

Tony shrugged and waved grandly at the space around them as if to say, _Take a look for yourself. _When she arched an impatient eyebrow at him, however, he was quick to answer, “The rest of the Avengers, some of your SHIELD friends, and funnily enough Loki, are all here. There are also some other people who weren’t involved in the battle against Loki—I saw Pepper, Rhodey and Happy, but I didn’t recognize anyone else.”

Natasha hummed, finally tearing her eyes away from him to inspect their surroundings on her own. “Why are there _kids_ here?” she muttered, quietly enough that Tony figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He spared her a quick glance and was surprised to find that her gaze was still fixated on the three teenagers, her lips pursed and her eyes tight at the corners.

Tony wisely decided not to mention it.

Natasha sighed, then, her eyes locking with his again. “Considering all of the couches and the expansive TV, I’m going to take a wild guess and say we’re in some sort of family theatre. The room’s certainly big, but still not really large enough to be a public cinema. The TV is definitely here for a reason, though.”

Tony nodded. “How did we all even get here?” he grumbled. “A theatre is not exactly the first place I’d think of when I imagine a kidnapping, but...”

“Whoever took us here, they were powerful enough to render _two _Asgardian gods and _the Hulk_ unconscious,” Natasha warned. “The theatre may look friendly, but just remember that looks can be deceiving.”

“You can say that again,” Tony agreed with a frown, mind unwillingly flashing back to Obadiah Stane, who’d taken his trust and torn it to shreds. “Wait a second,” he blinked, straightening up as Natasha’s words sank in fully. “Bruce is back to being, well, _Bruce _again.”

“Clearly,” Natasha remarked dryly. “What’s your point?”

Tony shrugged, eyes lingering on the doctor. “I’m just wondering what our kidnappers’ motive could be. They captured us all, and yet they took the time to replace Bruce’s pants.”

“Maybe they just want everyone to be _dressed_, Tony,” Natasha pointed out, exasperated. “Just be glad we don’t have to deal with a Dr. Banner who is naked, okay?”

“Sure,” Tony agreed dubiously. “Well,”—he heaved a sigh—“we’re clearly getting nowhere. We should probably just wait until everyone else wakes up.”

“You go do that,” Natasha huffed, leaping to her feet. “I’ll try find a way out. There’s no way I’m going to just sit here twiddling my thumbs.”

Tony rolled his eyes and flipped her the bird. “We can’t all be super-spies!” he called out after her, before wandering over to one of the velvet-lined couches. He sank into the cushion, exhaling a breath of relief as his aching muscles were finally given a moment of rest.

Eventually, a few minutes later, the other four Avengers slowly woke up, with Fury and Hill following suit. Tony noticed they were no longer unconscious and quickly rejoined them, filling them all in on the situation before anyone could panic.

Fury, unsurprisingly, was the most displeased with the turn of events, his gaze growing darker with every word Tony said. “How the _hell _did anyone get to me or Agent Hill?” he demanded. “I understand the rest of you; you were all at Stark Tower, which—you have to admit, Stark—is a goddamn _beacon _for villains. But Hill and I were both in a highly secure location—”

“I don’t know how they were able to locate you two, but I doubt it’s by any normal means,” Natasha interrupted, sliding into conversation at the same time as she slipped back into their corner. “What’s important now is motive. We have no idea what our captors took us for, and _until_ we find out, we can’t make any moves. Besides, I also wasn’t able to find any doors or even windows that could lead to an exit, so the only thing we can do now is wait.”

“So you’re saying we’re sitting ducks now?” Fury glared. “I’m sorry, let me rephrase. We’re sitting ducks _and _we’re trapped in a room with Thor’s wayward brother.”

Thor coughed awkwardly. “Yes, that is... unfortunate,” he admitted. “But without his scepter or the Tesseract, Loki shouldn’t be nearly as difficult to subdue.”

“I see your faith in me is as shallow as ever, dear brother,” the familiar voice of the God of Mischief drawled. The Avengers, Fury and Hill all collectively whirled around to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor near them. He was smirking far too smugly for a man who’d just been downed. “You should know better than to underestimate me by now.”

“And you should know better than to underestimate _us,_” Thor retorted boldly, a vicious snarl on his face. There was no hesitation, no _fear, _in the God of Thunder; he spoke as surely of their team as if the bonds between them had been forged of iron, instead of only recently solidified. “Don’t forget, we beat you once before already. We can do it again if we must.”

“You had your green _friend _to help you before,” Loki sneered. “But I don’t see him anywhere now.”

“Oh, don’t be so certain that you’re completely free of the Hulk,” Tony’s eyes hardened into a glare. “I’m sure the Hulk would be more than glad to return if it means putting you in your place again. Isn’t that right, Bruce?”

Loki followed the direction of Tony’s stare to find Bruce, skin dirtied with dust and rubble even though Loki hadn’t seen him fighting earlier. He was quick to realize the meaning of Tony’s words, and he swallowed roughly in a moment of fear he would never admit to.

Bruce said nothing, merely nodding in agreement, and Loki winced, one hand absentmindedly rubbing his ribs as he remembered the beating he’d taken. “Very well,” he conceded, not in the mood to have another altercation with the Hulk, “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Tony smiled darkly, forgetting for a moment where they were. When it finally dawned on him again, he groaned and turned around, drawing the group’s attention to the assortment of other figures lying around the room.

To Tony’s surprise, they were all already beginning to stir with varying degrees of alertness.

He tensed. “Guys, be ready,” he hissed to his teammates with a sense of urgency that missed no one. “Our company is about to wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved reading this type of fan fiction, so I thought I'd give it a go myself with Spider-Man: FFH. I know this chapter was really short, but don't worry, this was just an introduction - future chapters will be, I'm pretty sure, much longer. 
> 
> So I'm going to assemble a lot of characters from different timelines for this fanfic. I'll be adding those characters to the tags after the next update (although I already added a few obvious ones), so feel free to guess who they might be in the meantime :)
> 
> (Also, the title is still tentative (for now), so that might be changed the next time you see this fanfic.)


	2. Avengers (and Agents and Norse Gods and Civilians)... Assemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others begin to wake up. Our characters from 2012 observe the interactions that unfold from afar, and revelations are soon made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this 'setting the scene' part of the fanfic was only supposed to be a few thousand words, but *shrugs*
> 
> Anyway, because this turned out wayy longer than I expected it would be, I'm going to be splitting this chapter into two. I'll hopefully have the next part of this up soon. Also, I think the characters should be fairly obvious by now, so I went ahead and added those tags, but they will be 'officially' introduced by the next chapter.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The first to awake, surprisingly enough (or perhaps not so surprisingly), was the group with the red-skinned humanoid.

The red-skinned humanoid regained awareness quickly after he first started to wake up. As soon as he was fully conscious, he didn’t hesitate to make his way to his feet and start wandering around the room, eyes curious and intent. Much to the surprise of all of the Avengers and SHIELD spies, excluding perhaps Thor (and, of course, Loki) who was more used to otherworldly beings, the humanoid was _floating _as he made his way through the room.

Soon after, the metal-armed man leapt to his feet, an unmistakable haste to his movements that reminded Tony of his own initial panicked reaction to the situation. The man looked around frantically before his eyes landed on the dark-skinned man lying beside him. He turned away from the Avengers, scowled, and poked the man with the tip of his boot.

“_Oi_,” he barked, “wake up, birdbrain. We’ve got a situation.”

“Birdbrain?” Natasha echoed under her breath. She had a wide grin on her face. “Looks like you have competition, Barton.”

Clint shoved her lightly. “Shut up, Nat,” he whined, lips tugging into a pout that suited a child more than a fully-grown adult. “_I’m _the original bird-themed hero. Who even is this guy? He looks nothing like a bird!”

“Are you saying _you _look like a bird?” Bruce asked mildly, having quickly gotten over the confusion that he’d somehow transformed back into a man and been redressed after the battle.

Clint shot him an unamused look, while Natasha threw her head back and laughed. “Nice one, doctor,” she snickered, expertly avoiding the resulting blow Clint threw her.

“Hey, what’s with you, Capsicle?” Tony turned to Steve, who didn’t seem to be hearing their banter, instead still focused on the two strangers. “Are you too patriotic for a few good-natured jabs at a teammate?” he joked.

Steve blinked distractedly. “Sorry,” he muttered, eyebrows knitted in concern. “He just.... reminds me of someone.”

“Which one?” Tony asked, frowning. There was just something about the look in Steve's eyes that unnerved him. “‘Birdbrain’ or his metal friend?”

“His friend,” he answered absentmindedly, and then shook his head to clear the haze. “Never mind. I’m just fooling myself.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said doubtfully, unable to quite shake off the thought of Steve’s memory-lidded gaze. “Whatever you say.”

Back over on the other side, the dark-skinned man had awoken. He pushed himself to his feet with a groan and cracked open an eye, squinting at his acquaintance. “What the fuck, jerk?” he snapped. “Where are we?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out, dumbass,” ‘Jerk’ replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Then it appears as though we are all clueless,” the African man joined the conversation, sitting up and cocking a head sideways at them. Beside him, the African girl plopped herself up on her elbows and smiled lazily as her companion addressed the other two men. He nodded cordially at the metal-armed man first, and then the dark-skinned man second, “Sergeant. Sam.”

The metal-armed man—Sergeant—grunted non-verbally in acknowledgement, while his dark-skinned friend waved halfheartedly in response. “Who else is here?” Sam asked.

“Uh, guys?” the other normal-looking man with them—the one _without _red skin—called out with a wince. He gave the three others a wave before asking, nervously, “How did we all get here? Because I _really _need to get home. Like, five minutes ago. I’m supposed to be on house arrest!”

Tony exchanged a grimace with Steve from where they were curiously observing the interaction. A criminal, then. _This’ll be fun, _Tony thought sarcastically.

“Lang, _calm down_,” Sam soothed, placing a placating hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I mean, whoever took us really must not have thought this through. We may be _Rogues, _but we’re still _badass_. And sure, I may not have my wings with me, and I don’t see your suit, but this dumbass with me”—he nodded at the Sergeant—“and our resident sleeping beauty here”—he pointed at the young woman with long auburn hair, ignoring the fact that she’d recently awoken and was now staring at him in annoyance—“are a force to be reckoned with all on their own.”

“Wings?” Natasha repeated, sending Clint a pointed look. “He’s _obviously _more committed to the bird theme than you, Clint.”

“I still don’t know who he even _is,_” Clint replied in frustration, choosing to be the bigger man and ignore her baiting. _Bigger man. Yeah, right._ “And who are the others with him? He said something about a suit, and he clearly isn’t worried about being kidnapped so...”

“Sounds like a bunch of supers to me,” Tony announced. “I don’t recognize them, though. Maybe they’re new to the scene.”

“None of them were there to fight against Loki’s army,” Steve pointed out. “You’d think that a group of enhanced—or at least gifted—people would at least _try_ to help out.”

“Maybe they had prior commitments,” Clint defended.

“During an _alien _invasion?” Steve asked skeptically. Clint just huffed and folded his arms across his chest, eyes defiant as his mind briefly flashed to his family.

Tony was barely paying them any mind, too busy racking his brain trying to figure out who the newcomers were.

Speaking of the strangers, the red-haired woman rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, but backed Sam up as she gave the worried American a reassuring smile. “He’s right,” she supported, an accent Tony couldn’t quite place thickening her speech. “We’ll be out of here before you know it.” Without so much as breaking her gaze with the American, the woman offered her fist to the Sergeant, who reached out and bumped her knuckles with his own without missing a beat.

“I gotta agree,” the African teenager piped up, throwing a cheeky grin at her fellow African. “And not to worry. My brother here will step up if need be. He might look like an _idiot_ doing it, but he’ll get the job done.”

“You think you’re insulting me, but you forget you’re the one who built my suit,” her brother said dryly. “If it looks stupid, that’s on _you_, not me.”

“Oh, but you’re misunderstanding, brother dear,” the girl countered, lips curling upwards at the corners of her grin to reveal teeth. “I didn’t say the _suit _looked idiotic, I said _you _look like an idiot. It has nothing to do with my suit.”

Her brother rolled his eyes and fell silent, turning away with a wordless scoff as if refusing to be baited into a senseless argument.

The American in flannel—Sam had called him ‘Lang’—hardly looked reassured. “You don’t understand,” he fretted, looking stressed as he ran a hand through his hair. “If they find out I’m not at home, either they’ll throw me back into the Raft or I’ll have to go on the run. Either way, I’ll never see Cassie again!”

“The Raft?” Tony whispered in shock.

“It’s an underwater prison,” Fury replied. “It was a project the government came up with after Thor’s first appearance caused us to realize that we aren’t as alone in the universe as we first believed.”

“Yeah, I _know _what it is,” Tony hissed. JARVIS had come across a report on the Raft during one of his sweeps of SHIELD’s database. “But I thought the Raft was created for the purpose of detaining _enhanced individuals. _Who _is_ this guy to warrant incarceration in the Raft?”

Fury had no answer to that.

“Cassie?” Sam echoed inquisitively, drawing Tony and Fury’s focus back to the strangers.

Lang deflated. “My daughter,” he admitted, his voice a hushed whisper. His gaze was heavy with sorrow as he clutched one fist to his chest, a faraway look in his eyes.

Tony winced at the same time as the African male said, “I get that. I understand how important it is to come back to family. My sister and I may argue—”

“—only because you’re a _moron_—”

“—but at the end of the day, I’d do anything to make it back home.”

His sister softened. “Such a sap, brother,” she teased, but there were tears in her eyes when she looked away, and a small smile touched her lips.

Tony was about to go and do something reckless like promise to help Lang with his situation in exchange for aid in escaping this room when, all of a sudden, Rhodey groaned awake.

“What the...?” Rhodey grumbled, lifting his head slightly as his eyelids fluttered open.

Tony immediately snapped to attention, as did everyone else with him. The group in the corner, too, fell silent in favor of observing Rhodey.

Before Tony could call out to his friend, Rhodey shifted into an upright position and stretched to make himself comfortable. Beside him, Pepper adjusted to the movement and gradually became more alert. Pepper had always been a light sleeper, Tony reflected as Pepper abruptly shot up, seeming to realize that something was _wrong_.

“What happened?” her voice cracked the way it did whenever she had just woken up. She craned her neck around and peered blearily at Rhodey, confusion rampant in her expression. “_Rhodey_? What are you doing here? Where is _here_?”

“I know as much as you do—which is to say, I know nothing at all,” Rhodey shrugged. “I just woke up a second ago—”

“_What the hell_!?” Happy’s voice thundered across the room, immediately drawing all eyes to his group.

Rhodey and Pepper both climbed to their feet in a flash and turned in Happy’s direction. As soon as they took in the sight of Happy with three kids next to him, they both gawked, unable to process the sight. “Uh,” Rhodey leaned in towards Pepper, “are you seeing what I’m seeing? Is that Happy with _literal children_?”

Pepper merely managed to nod silently, for once at a loss for words. The thought of Happy _willingly_ surrounding himself with teenagers contradicted everything she knew about him.

The curly-haired girl stirred first, and as soon as she saw Happy she wrinkled her nose and demanded, “Why am I seeing you right now? What did you do this time?”

Happy gave her an offended look. “_Nothing_,” he snapped. “I woke up and we were _here_!”

The girl finally looked around herself and froze, as if only just now realizing she wasn’t home. “What the fuck,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

“I’m in the same boat as you,” Happy said. All of a sudden, his eyes widened in panic. “_Shit. _I need to get back to the safe house. What if someone lured me here so they could get to May?”

Tony reared back in surprise. _May? _he wondered to himself. Who was _May_, and why would someone want to go after her? Why was Happy needed in a _safe house_?

Almost immediately, the girl looked concerned at the realization that May was alone in 'the safe house'. She scowled. “If Peter gets back and finds out his aunt is gone, he’ll never forgive us—more importantly, he’ll never forgive _you_—”

“I _know_,” Happy groaned. “The last time I spoke to him, I promised him I’d protect her.”

The girl was about to reply when her eyes caught on to a sight somewhere over Happy’s shoulder. _Oh my god, _she mouthed silently, before turning wide eyes to Happy and trying to get his attention, “Happy.”

“I swore I’d never so much as let her out of my sight!” Happy carried on, heedless of the girl’s call of his name and her suddenly pale expression. “God, I can’t believe I was so careless as to let myself get _kidnapped. _I can only imagine how many enemies Peter has that wouldn't hesitate to hurt the people he loves—”

“_Happy._”

“He’s taken down so many people, and now all of those criminals are out to get him. Ever since the world found out who he is, the press has done everything in their power to uncover _every single detail_ of his life. Hell, I saw a few criminals staking out his _apartment_ the other day,” Happy recalled, fists clenched tightly. His face was pinched with anger and fear, worry lines stretching across his forehead. “We’d already moved May by then, but what if his enemies finally managed to find us? God, remember Toomes? What if he—”

“_Happy_!” the girl finally exploded, jabbing Happy’s chest with her pointer finger.

Happy startled immediately, blinking as he regained his composure and silenced his ranting. “W-What?” he bit out.

The girl rolled her eyes, but despite her irritated facade, there was an underlying hint of shock in her expression. Her eyes were wild and frenzied, and her shoulders shook minutely. “_Happy,_” she repeated, voice trembling. “_Look. _It’s _Peter. _He’s _here._”

Happy choked, staggering backwards with the weight of her statement. “What are you _talking_ about—”

But he’d already turned around to see for himself, and the second his eyes landed on the teenaged boy with brown curls, his mouth fell open in disbelief. “Holy shit,” he managed to whisper. “_Holy shit. _It’s really him.”

“Yeah,” the girl breathed. “It’s been so _long_—”

“Wait, what is he even _doing_ here?” Happy snapped out of his shocked reverie quickly, worries returning to replace awe. “Oh, my god. Someone really _did _get to him.”

The girl sighed and ignored him for a moment to lean over and shake the Filipino boy awake. “_Loser,_” she hissed, “you need to _get the fuck up._”

“MJ...?” the boy’s eyes opened blearily, before he rolled away from her with a groan. “It’s too _early_,” he bemoaned. “Leave me _alone_.”

The girl, ‘MJ’ apparently, huffed. “Jesus Christ,” she swore. “It’s gonna be a chore and a half to wake him up. Peter always said it takes Ned forever to wake up for school after sleepovers.”

“Wait,” Happy said, “I have an idea.” He strode forward until he was within mere feet of the Filipino boy and urged, “Leeds, come on. You’re going to be late for school.”

(Tony had never before imagined that he’d get to see Happy Hogan, one of the most impatient and easily irritable men he knew, try to wake up a _kid_. An _angsty teenage kid_.)

MJ’s face scrunched up. “_That’s _your great idea?” she said in annoyed disbelief. “Didn’t I _just_ say that he takes forever to wake up for school?”

Happy pinked in embarrassment, but was quick to shake off the failure. Instead of trying again with the school route, he dropped to a crouch, peered down at the boy, and snapped, “_Get up, _Ned. Peter’s back.”

Impressively, the news that ‘Peter was back’ was enough to make Ned open his eyes immediately. “What?” he asked, voice rough. “I could have sworn I just heard you say—”

“_Peter’s back,_” Happy repeated.

Ned froze, and then immediately leapt into action, pushing off the floor onto his feet and regarding Happy with a mix of hope and apprehension. “Are you serious?” he demanded. “Wait, where even am I? Did you kidnap me? Never mind that, what were you saying about Peter?”

MJ groaned. “He’s right over there,” she called out, pointing at the last teenager still asleep. “I can’t believe you’re so calm at the thought of being kidnapped.”

Ned looked at her strangely. “_You’re _calm, and you’re here, too.”

MJ shrugged. “I’m always calm,” she reminded him.

“Right,” he conceded, and then scurried over towards the last teenager’s sleeping form. “Oh, my god,” he mumbled. “He’s really here. I’ve missed him _so much_—”

“Ned?” the boy himself—‘Peter’ if his friends were to be believed—finally woke up, slowly opening his eyes. “What – what are you doing here?”

Ned’s lips curved into a mega-watt grin. “Peter!” he exclaimed gleefully, practically jumping up and down in giddy excitement. “You’re here!”

“I’m here,” Peter agreed, before frowning. “Wait, where’s here? _How _am I here?” He paled and jumped up, whirling around to quickly take in his surroundings. “_Fuck. _Please don’t tell me we’ve been kidnapped—”

Except the second Peter had turned around, exposing his countenance to the rest of the room, Pepper and Rhodey had taken one look at his face and choked.

“P – _Peter_? Parker?” The kid’s full name—Peter Parker, apparently—tore itself from Pepper's jaws with a strangled gasp. Pepper’s hands flew to her mouth as she took him in, eyes raking over him with dazed disbelief. “What are you – what is _going on_? God, Peter, how are you _here_?”

“Pep,” Tony cut in before he could stop himself, “how do you know this kid?” He hated to admit it, but since the moment he woke up in this theatre, he’d felt blindsided at every turn, clueless as to how Happy _knew _these kids and why they seemed so important to his bodyguard and why a kid like Peter would have so many enemies—and now, how _Pepper _seemed to know Peter, too.

Pepper turned to him in an instant, her eyes taking him in before she reared back in surprise. It was Peter’s reaction that took Tony off-guard the most, though—the second the boy caught a glimpse of him, his hand lifted as if to reach out to Tony, before he shook his head desperately and seemed to remember himself, eyes blinking back tears when he staggered backwards as if physically struck.

The boy cast a fleeting glance at Happy before turning back to Tony, a dazed mumble of the name _Mr. Stark _and an awed litany of _oh my god oh my god oh my god _leaving his lips.

Tony swallowed. Something about the look on the boy’s face—something about the kid, _period—_stirred a feeling inside him that he could not place. _Who is he?_

“Tony, I...” Pep’s voice snapped him back to reality. She trailed off, her brows furrowing in confusion, before she looked back at Peter. “What do you mean? He’s _Peter, _I—” she froze, her eyes latching onto something—some_one_—behind him. She swallowed, and when she spoke again, her voice was tight with barely controlled anger, “What are you doing with _him_?”

Tony winced. “He won’t hurt you, don’t worry,” he was quick to assure her, assuming she’d finally taken notice of the leather-clad God of Mischief behind him. “Loki’s promised to restrain himself for now. We—the nine of us, that is—were all taken together.”

Pepper blinked, her nose wrinkling. “I’m not talking about Loki—although that’s _definitely_ another cause for concern. But what I was asking about before was _Steve._” There was a certain quality, a certain bitter edge, to her voice when she said Captain America’s name that stunned Tony. He’d only ever heard her this angry once before: when she’d discovered Stane’s true colors. “What are you two doing on the _same_ _side_?” she demanded.

“Pep, what...?” He frowned, unsure why she seemed so angry at Rogers. He hadn’t been aware that she held any resentment for the icon of patriotism in America. “What’s the problem? We just fought Loki together. He’s one of the Avengers. He’s _Captain America _and all that. And sure, I personally have a lot of mixed feelings about Mr. Good and Righteous here, but what can you do?” He smiled unconvincingly and shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, as if he hadn’t grown up under a father—a _monster—_who had compared him to Captain America at every turn.

But Pepper only snorted, skeptical. “Good and righteous, _sure,_” she said doubtfully. “Are you sure everything’s okay—wait.” She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide as she came to a realization. “You said you _just fought Loki together—_”

“Yeah—”

“How is that _possible_?” Pepper muttered, almost as if to herself. “I didn’t realize Loki was even _back—_”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘back’?” Tony followed up, eyes squinting at her. There was something off about this entire situation, and Tony _hated _it. He was usually the most informed person in the room—nobody dared to keep secrets from _the _Tony Stark, after all. He always made it his business to be holding _all the cards, _at _all _times_. _But now, in this movie theatre with his new teammates and an alien-who-recently-terrorized-New-York and his closest friends and a group of strangers, he felt, for once in his life, like he’d been left in the dark.

He decided he _loathed_ feeling clueless.

Pepper’s face scrunched up in confusion. She opened her mouth as if to answer him, but then shook her head in disbelief. When she regarded him fully, her expression was filled with more concern than Tony was comfortable with.

Seconds ticked by, and it became increasingly clear that Pepper had lost her voice, words stolen from her by the shock of the situation. Rhodey was quick to step up in her place, resting a protective hand on her shoulder as he pressed urgently, “What’s going on with you today, Tones?”

Tony threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “_Nothing’s _‘going on with me today’,” he snapped, adopting a mocking tone as he repeated Rhodey’s words back to him. “The real question is, what’s going on with _you two_? This entire situation is unbelievable!”

Rhodey opened his mouth as if to retort, but before he could, a voice interrupted, “Mr. Stark, Loki hasn’t been seen in _ages. _Last I heard, Thor said that he...” Peter paused, shook his head and seemed to reconsider it. “Never mind. Also, _you’re _the one who introduced me to Ms. Potts. So I guess what I’m trying to ask is, what date do you last remember it being?”

Tony recoiled, taken aback by both the question in itself and Peter’s voice. Tony hadn’t really paid attention to it before, but now that Peter was speaking _to _him, it was impossible _not _to realize that Peter sounded _nothing _like a kid. He didn’t have the youthful innocence and cheer that all kids _should_ have.

Peter sounded muted and _broken, _as if he was all at once a terrified little boy and a wise old man. It was the voice of someone who’d seen too much, _experienced_ too much.

It was a voice born in tragedy.

In the end, it was that shaken tone of voice—and the sheer _desperation_ in his question, as if Tony had the power to make or break him with a single sentence—that persuaded Tony to indulge the kid and answer him honestly:

“May 4th, 2012.”

Four things happened at once:

One, a strangled whimper tumbled out of Peter’s mouth. Peter looked like Tony had stabbed him in the gut and left him bleeding out for all the world to see. Beside Peter, Happy quickly stepped forward and reached up to squeeze his shoulder tightly in a comforting gesture that Tony had never expected would come from his all-work-no-play, no-nonsense bodyguard.

Two, the other teenaged boy whipped around to gape at Tony as though he’d grown two heads, his book bag slipping off his shoulder and falling onto the floor with a crash that seemed deafening in the ensuing silence. Peter’s female friend, the curly-haired girl, stared in shock, a whispered _oh shit _escaping her.

Three, Pepper’s knees buckled as if she could no longer hold her own weight, and her hands flew to her mouth. She gagged on air, doubling over to dry-heave. The only thing that left her was air and horror, but Rhodey was at her side in an instant, rubbing her back soothingly and murmuring incoherent words of reassurance into her ear.

Four, the remaining group in the corner immediately fell into chaos, with the metal-armed man, the dark-skinned man in a coat and the American in flannel dissolving into a litany of curses. The African man lasted two seconds before he joined them in their foray into excessive swearing, while the African girl next to him burst into hysteric (read: _nervous_) laughter. The other young woman frowned beside her, her eyes glowing red (_Red? _With everything else that was going on, Tony wisely decided he wasn’t going to ask) for a moment before returning to their normal color.

“Well,” the red-skinned man was the first to interrupt the chaos a few moments later, immediately silencing the people near him, “that certainly clarifies a lot of things, such as why Loki seems to have returned to Earth.” He spared the God of Mischief himself a pointed look, a frown painted across his face.

Tony blinked when he traced the red-skinned humanoid back to his original group. He hid his surprise and quietly assumed that the humanoid had returned during the chaos that had erupted from Happy’s side of the room.

“_Vision_?” Rhodey gawked. (How the hell did Rhodey know this guy with _red skin_? What kind of a name was Vision, anyway?) “Man, oh man, is it good to see you, buddy.”

“What about you guys?” Pepper spoke up hesitantly, addressing “Vision’s” group. “What date... or year, I suppose, are you from?”

“Now, Pep,” Tony laughed nervously, unwilling to consider the implications of that question, “surely you can’t be suggesting _time travel—_”

“Actually, _I am,_” Pepper glared harshly at him, “because where I come from, _Peter is supposed to be dead_!”

Tony froze, wide eyes darting to the teenaged boy. God, Peter looked so _young. _What age had he been when he’d _died _in Pepper’s—dare he think it—timeline?

“Oh,” Peter whispered, breaking the all-consuming silence. His voice was small and quiet, but for some reason, he didn’t sound _scared _like he’d just found out he was about to die. He only sounded resigned. “You’re from...”

“Uh,” Fury finally stepped in, “perhaps it would be best if she didn’t share that with you... Peter, was it?” Fury looked concerned, but Tony could tell it wasn’t because _a kid was going to die. _“Time is nothing to mess around with.”

His stare was completely void of sympathy, of _empathy. _He might as well have said, _You need to die to preserve the balance of time._

“_Hey_,” Tony snapped, a spike of irritation flaring in his chest. “Have some common _fucking _decency, _director_. The kid was just told that he’s _dead_ in Pep’s time.”

“Tony’s right,” Pepper agreed softly. “Peter, I – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have to be burdened by the thought that—”

“You’re from the time of the Blip, aren’t you? That’s why you were so surprised to see me?” Peter cut in, his eyes fixed on Pepper. There was a grim sort of solemnity in the line of his mouth. “What year?”

“Peter—” Happy started from beside him.

Peter just shot Happy a pointed _look. _“I need to know how long I’ve been gone to her,” he said quietly, but still loud enough for them all to hear.

Tony saw Pepper and Rhodey exchange a stupefied glance and hid his own confusion. What did Peter mean by _how long he’s been gone_? Why did he need to know _that? _Tony would have expected him to ask how long he had _left_ until he died, but...

“Was the Blip recent for you two?” Peter persisted. “Are you two from right after the Blip? Late 2018? 2019, maybe? Or has it been a little longer?”

Pepper’s jaw unhinged. “I...” she glanced at Rhodey again, panic fringing her expression. “We’re from 2018,” she finally admitted, hesitation coloring her voice.

“But Peter, how do you _know _that?” Rhodey whispered, expression pinched. Something about the sheer _devastation _in his voice made Tony reconsider him, this time scrutinizing his best friend more thoroughly.

Rhodey looked _wrecked. _Physically, he had metal braces wrapped around his legs, clearly a functional tool to help him walk that made Tony shudder to think _why_ he needed them. But beyond the physical, Rhodey just seemed more _tired_. His face was lined with worry and grief, and he looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with old age. His eyes were dark and hardened with a tragedy that would not leave him.

Now that Tony had noticed it in Rhodey, he could see the same grief and misery tainting Pepper, too. It stained her in a way Tony had _never _wanted to happen. He’d once promised himself that he’d make sure his girlfriend wouldn’t have to ever face the cruelties of war, but he could tell now that somewhere along the line, he would fail her.

Tony swallowed. Pepper had said they were from _2018_. That was only six years away. Six short years, and yet Pepper and Rhodey looked like they’d been through unspeakable horrors.

What had _happened_ in the six years between his time and theirs?

Before he could dwell on it for much longer, though, Peter sighed heavily, a sigh weighed down by loss, and answered: “Because, Rhodey, I’m from _2024._”


	3. Introductions, Here We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the audience is introduced, as is the horror of the future that awaits them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say except that I sat down to type out the introductions part of the 'setting-the-scene' section of the story and, well, my fingers apparently have a mind of their own.
> 
> Now you're left with this (long) update. Also, I apologize in advance for any mistakes; I haven't had the chance to proofread this fully yet, but a lot of you were asking for an update so I figured I'd upload this and go back through it some other time. Please let me know if you spot any errors. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The room immediately descended into silence.

Tony straightened at once, his brain _shrieking _at him in confusion. _I’m from 2024, _Peter had said and _meant _it. But _how_? How could Peter be from the year 2024, when he was already dead in Pepper and Rhodey’s 2018?

None of this made any _sense. _And yet, from the vulnerable look on Peter’s face, Tony knew it had to be true.

“That’s not – that’s not _possible,_” Pepper stammered. Tony had never heard her so much as _falter _before. She had always been so headstrong, so composed and infallible. “Tony _saw_ _you. _He saw you _die._”

Tony felt sick to his stomach. According to Pepper, he would be there at the time of Peter’s death. He would witness _an innocent kid’s _death. God, how was he supposed to react to that?

Peter’s face flooded with sorrow. “I know,” he whispered, voice choked. “I _know._ I died in 2018—I was dead until – ”

He paused, swallowed down the rest of his sentence, and corrected, “I was dead for a long time. Sorry, I don’t know if I should tell you how long.”

“Pepper,” Happy chimed in, serious and grave, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. Peter’s _alive _in 2024. I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you _how_ it happened—because despite his intention in saying it, Fury was _right _to claim that time should not be messed with—but just know that he _will_ come back.” He paused, sparing the other two teenagers a fleeting glance. “They’ll all come back.”

Tony fought off a wave of nausea. _All_? Had Peter’s friends died, too?

“Okay, no,” Clint jumped in. “I was coming around to the idea of time travel, but _resurrection_? There’s no way. That’s not a real thing.”

“We’re standing in a room with two Norse gods, a man who can turn into a green giant, and people from the future,” Natasha pointed out dryly. “Who can really say what’s possible anymore?”

“Yeah, but all of those can be _explained_!” Clint exclaimed. “But resurrection? Resurrection is a _child’s fantasy_, Nat, you _know_ that! We _all_ know that! Come on, Stark, back me up. You’re a man of science, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know _what_ I know anymore,” Tony muttered to himself. “Because Peter’s obviously _standing right there, _and Pepper and Rhodey both look like they’ve seen a ghost.”

“Listen, I know it sounds unreal, Mr. Barton, but trust me, there’s _a lot _about the future that sounds unreal. There’s a lot you wouldn’t believe.” Peter shared a quick, commiserating look with Happy. “I’ve learned to just roll with it. So maybe we can all just, I don’t know,”—he shrugged helplessly—“table the discussion of what’s possible or not until _after _we’ve found out what we’re all doing here?”

His female friend snorted. “Wow, I can’t believe _you _of all people are acting as the voice of reason,” she grinned at him, eyebrows waggling pointedly.

He rolled his eyes at her, but couldn’t help the returning smile that climbed up his face. “Oh, come on! I can be reasonable!” he protested.

It was Happy’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah, right,” he snickered. His teasing was rewarded by Peter sticking his tongue out at him and punching him playfully on the shoulder.

Clint cleared his throat and interrupted them, “You know who I am?”

Peter hesitated, and then nodded with a quiet sigh. “Yeah, I do.” He smiled wryly. “I know everyone here, but I can tell by the look on your face and the fact that you’re _apparently from 2012 _that you’re unfamiliar with most of these faces. Maybe we should start with introductions?”

“Good idea,” the African man agreed, stepping forward slightly. “I’m a little confused as to who some of you are supposed to be, too. I suppose I might as well start. I’m T’Challa, son of T’Chaka. I’m from 2016.”

Peter winced. “_Ooh,_” he grimaced. “2016. _Right._”

“This coming from a boy who’s apparently been _dead_,” Clint muttered quietly to Natasha and Fury, still struggling to wrap his mind around the apparent _reality_ that, by the time 2024 rolled around, Peter had both died and been revived.

“_Right_?” Natasha nodded in agreement, a smirk snaking across her lips. “What could _possibly_ be wrong with 2016?”

Fury sent them both a sharp glare, before clearing his throat and addressing T’Challa, “‘Son of T’Chaka’… I've heard that name from somewhere before.” His one eye narrowed at T'Challa, realization brewing in his expression. “You’re the heir to the throne of Wakanda, aren’t you?”

T’Challa hummed, a joyless smile appearing on his face. “Something like that,” he murmured, barely loud enough for Fury to hear. Fury looked at him strangely, but T’Challa didn’t bother to elaborate, the recent memory of his father’s death and his subsequent bloody ascension to the throne leaving him silent, stuck in the past.

“I’m this idiot’s sister,” the African girl introduced obnoxiously with a jab of her thumb at T’Challa, trying to change the subject and distract her brother from the thought of their late father. “My name is Shuri, and I’m the head of Wakanda’s science division.”

“Science division?” Fury echoed, lips twitching downwards. “Last I heard, Wakanda is supposed to be a struggling third-world country.”

Shuri just smiled smugly, a superior lilt to her voice as she said cryptically, “That’s what you think.”

T’Challa sighed in exasperation at her antics. “Shuri,” he scolded her. She shrugged unapologetically, and he rolled his eyes and explained, “We’ve never been a third-world country. That was just a front to keep us isolated from the rest of the world, but we recently came out and opened ourselves up to the outside world.”

“In truth, we are likely the most technologically advanced country in the entire world,” Shuri added, and though her words were boastful, there was nothing egotistical about her voice; she said it frankly, as if it were merely a fact.

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow, but figured he should keep his thoughts to himself for the moment. If Shuri truly was a genius in charge of a technologically superior nation, then he couldn’t wait to see what she was capable of.

“I can attest to that,” the metal-armed man agreed, drawing all eyes to him and his prosthetic limb. He cast Steve a hesitant glance, before continuing, “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but most people just call me Bucky. I was a part of the Howling Commandos with Steve back in the forties.”

“B-_Bucky_?” Steve whispered. “I thought I recognized you. Is... is it really you—?”

“Hi, Stevie,” the man, Bucky, smiled, expression earnest and vulnerable. “It’s really me.”

“How are you—”

“Alive?” Bucky finished. When Steve nodded, a little confused and a lot desperate, Bucky averted his gaze, his smile fading. “It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you the whole sordid tale when we have more time, but for now...” he offered a helpless shrug.

Steve nodded absently. “Okay,” he breathed, “okay. _God_, it’s good to see you again, Buck. It’s been way too long.”

Bucky’s serious demeanor was quickly replaced by a cheeky grin. “Well,” he smirked, “I just saw you a week ago, so...”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “You really came back,” he whispered. The ‘_to me_’ was left unspoken, but it was heard by everyone in the room regardless. “I… I get to have you again, in the future?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s flesh hand twitched nervously. “Like I said, it’s a long story. We don’t really have the time to get into it right now.”

“Is anyone else seeing the connection between Steve’s friend’s revival and the kid’s?” Clint wondered absentmindedly. “Because _wow. _I'm still a little doubtful, but if the future truly _is_ full of technology that can bring people back to life, then I am _so _here for it.”

“_Clint,_” Natasha hissed, rolling her eyes. He’d always been a little more prone to his childish tendencies than the rest of SHIELD.

Clint just smiled innocently at her.

“Unfortunately,” Peter’s voice swept over them, _dark_ in a way that immediately made Clint deflate, mood sobering, “no. It wasn’t quite technology that brought my friends and I back to life, and from what I’ve heard, Bucky didn’t truly die in the first place.”

Bucky looked surprised at that. “You know what happened to me?”

Peter just nodded mutely. “I know you in the future,” was all he had to say in answer to that.

“Why am I _not_ surprised? Bucky—the literal man-child—befriends an _actual _child?” the dark-skinned man beside him joked. He paled, however, when he remembered that the ‘actual child’ had clearly been through several traumatic events, not the least of which his own death. “Sorry,” he coughed. “_Moving on, _I’m the guy stuck babysitting this one-armed disaster. Sam Wilson, or the Falcon.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and smacked Sam over the head with his flesh hand. Sam remained unfazed, flipping him the finger before gesturing for the auburn-haired woman beside him to speak.

“I’m Wanda Maximoff,” the young woman introduced quietly, intensely aware of the tension between her and Vision, who was hovering a few meters away from her. If there was one thing she regretted about siding with Steve, it was that it had necessitated the betrayal of a close friend.

She smiled nervously at everyone’s attention and tucked a strand of her reddish, chestnut-brown hair behind her ear. “Or some people call me the Scarlet Witch,” she added as an afterthought, a hint of her Sokovian accent shining through her voice and slurring her words, the way it always seemed to do whenever she was anxious.

“‘Witch’, huh?” Fury repeated, voice deadpan and eyebrows arched in disbelief. “_Really_?”

“Hey, back off,” Sam said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s just her superhero name because she has telekinetic and telepathic powers.”

“Holy hell,” Clint gaped. “Did you guys get that? She has freaky mind powers. _Damn._”

“We can all hear him, too, Clint,” Natasha replied without any humor. “Although I have to admit, it does sound impressive. I wonder how powerful her telekinesis and telepathy are.”

_Very, _Loki thought to himself, though he was unwilling to voice his thoughts. _It’s undeniable: the Midgardian is more than just _powerful_. She _is_ power._

He eyed Wanda cautiously, keeping a careful watch over the telltale red magic he could sense swarming her body. He’d felt her use just a fraction of her telepathy some time earlier, right after Stark had admitted to being from 2012. He figured she had wanted to ascertain for herself the truth of Stark’s claims; he could only assume that she’d found what she was looking for, because she’d retreated after only a few seconds.

In the end, he could tell that she’d only used _the bare minimum _of her capabilities, but even then, her power had been unavoidable. He could still hear the remnants of her powers now, whispering in his ear and becoming entangled with his own _seidr. _For a mortal, her power was _immense, _intoxicating and overwhelming.

(If he dwelled on it for long enough, he could sense the barest hints of his scepter—_the Mind Stone—_mingling with the scent of her humanity.)

“She’s one of us—one of the _good guys,_” Sam carried on, barely seeming to notice the 2012 travelers’ reactions to his revelation about Wanda’s powers. “We’re all from 2016, too, by the way.”

Vision frowned and looked away when Sam said _one of the good guys_. Wanda pretended not to notice, hiding a flinch of pain by shooting Sam a small, grateful smile, “Thanks, Sam.”

“Awkward,” the man in flannel whispered. Sam and Wanda both immediately turned to him, and he cringed. Before they could comment, he pushed through the embarrassment and pointed at himself, “Scott Lang, otherwise known as Ant-Man. I’m from the same time as these guys. I can turn really small or really big.”

“You can say that again,” Sam snorted, briefly flashing back to the airport in Berlin, when Scott had enlarged himself into a giant to distract the other team.

“I believe it is now my turn to introduce myself,” Vision commented. “I, too, am from the year 2016. I’m an android based on Tony Stark’s AI, JARVIS. I was created by Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Helen Cho and Thor. You can call me Vision.”

“_Oh,_” Tony made a noise of realization. “You’re an android. That makes more sense. I just thought you painted yourself red.”

“Aren’t you more surprised about the fact that, by their time, we evidently managed to create a functional, sentient android?” Bruce asked, his jaw gaping open as he stared blankly at Vision.

“Indeed,” Thor added. “I am curious as to how I factored into his creation.”

Tony just shrugged. “Oddly enough, this isn’t the most surprising thing we’ve heard today,” he reminded them. Privately, he thought of Project Ultron and wondered if Vision was a result of that. Right now, Ultron was barely even a fully thought-out concept in his head, simply the half-baked results of a madman in desperate search of a solution to the spaceship he’d seen in space earlier today. He’d only just begun considering it, and yet here Vision was. _Does this mean Ultron becomes necessary?_

“Are you allowed to explain how you came to be,” Tony pursued the topic, a little anxious, “or at least, why I create you?”

“It’s a long—”

“—Story,” Tony finished, defeated. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fine, whatever. I didn’t really want to know, anyway. Let’s just get introductions over with. Pep, Rhodey, you two are up.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, more than used to Tony’s antics by now. He could recognize a Tony Stark Deflection when he saw one. Still, he didn’t bother calling his best friend out on it, figuring that Tony was already out of his depth as it was, surrounded by people from the future on all sides.

“It’s James Rhodes, at your service. Or Rhodey, I guess, if you’re Tony,” he humored his friend. “And, well, Pepper already told you guys we’re from 2018. In my time, I’m a part of the Avengers; the public know me as”—he hesitated and snuck a glance at Tony, who was staring at him wide-eyed—“War Machine.”

Tony sucked in a breath. He didn’t know why he was so surprised to find out that Rhodey would end up joining the Avengers—Rhodey was his best friend, after all, and he’d stuck by Tony’s side through thick and thin. But… Tony eyed Rhodey’s metal braces again, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. _Is his injury my fault? _he couldn’t help but wonder. _Things are always my fault. If I made Rhodey join the Avengers only to get him hurt—_

Tony couldn’t help the whimper that ripped from his throat. _God, it had to have been my fault. Why else would Rhodey need braces to walk? It’s me who’s the danger-magnet—I destroy everything I touch._

“Tones,” Rhodey’s soothing voice dragged him out of the trap that was his self-loathing. When Tony looked up, he found Rhodey staring at him knowingly, an expression of immeasurable fondness on his face. Tony’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I know what you’re thinking,” Rhodey started, and Tony could hear the unconditional forgiveness in his voice, “and I promise, it wasn’t—”

“Actually, I’m thinking, _I knew you’d come around and see it my way. _War Machine is a _thousand_ times better than Iron Patriot as a superhero name,” Tony cut him off, swallowing down the lump in his throat and automatically reverting back to witty banter—his number one coping mechanism. Rhodey just sighed and narrowed his eyes at him scrutinizingly, but Tony cleared his throat and carefully avoided his gaze. He wasn’t in the mood to have his vulnerabilities exposed in front of their audience. (Besides, he didn’t _deserve _Rhodey’s forgiveness. He didn’t deserve absolution, period.)

Rhodey leaned back on his heels and nodded, resigned to letting the words die in his throat. If Tony wanted to avoid the elephant in the room, then he would let him. The last thing Rhodey wanted to do was make Tony—_any_ version of Tony—uncomfortable.

He shot Pepper a meaningful _look_; Pepper, unsurprisingly, was quick to step forward and distract the rest of the room from the tension that still simmered in the air: “And I’m Pepper Potts, the current CEO of Stark Industries.”

Rhodey smiled at her gratefully. _Thank God for Pepper, _he thought, relieved. If there was one person who was as in tune with Tony and Tony’s emotions as Rhodey himself, it was Pepper Potts. She knew, just as well as Rhodey did, how much Tony _despised _appearing vulnerable. Trusting other people had always come difficult to Tony.

Rhodey turned back to Tony, and, upon seeing the unbidden curiosity on his friend’s face, _grinned _unabashedly_. _“Before you ask, Tony, _yes, _you two are still together,” he informed Tony gleefully, taking joy in the subtle blush that painted itself across Tony’s cheeks at having been found out. “You can stop worrying now.”

Tony huffed, flushing an even deeper scarlet. “I wasn’t _worrying,_” he denied with a forceful scoff, turning away from Rhodey and Pepper both before they could catch him in the obvious lie. Because truth be told, he _had _worried. Up until the moment Rhodey confirmed Pepper’s status as his still-girlfriend, Tony admittedly hadn’t been _sure. _He’d hoped, of course, but he knew better than anyone how hard it was to love him. And yet somehow, miraculously, Pepper was still his. She’d _stayed_.

He cleared his throat, muffled an emotional sniff, and resorted to executing another one of his signature Tony Stark Deflections. “All right, we don’t have all day,” he feigned impatience, snapping his fingers and pointing at his bodyguard. “Kids in the corner and Happy, step up.”

Happy made an offended noise. “Why are you lumping me in with them?” he complained.

“Uh, maybe because you’re _literally_ standing with them right now,” Tony pointed out as if to say _duh._

At the same time, Peter nudged Happy with his elbow and teased, “You know you love us, Hap.”

Happy scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, muttering something about _stupid spiders _(seriously, what was going on with the future??) and _ridiculous kids_, but it was impossible to miss the way his lips tugged up at the corners in a semblance of a smile as soon as Peter looked away.

_Wow, _Tony thought to himself, more than a little stunned. _I can’t say I ever expected to see the day Happy has gone soft because of a kid._

“Why are we even doing this,” Happy grumbled to himself. When Peter poked him insistently in the ribs, he rolled his eyes and gave in, “_Fine_. Happy Hogan. In my timeline—that’s 2024, like Peter’s—I’m the head Head of Security of Stark Industries, and more importantly, this little shit’s”—his hand plopped down on Peter’s mess of curls—“babysitter. If anything happens to him, I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

Everyone aside from the three teenagers from 2024, who shared unsubtle high-fives, and the princess of Wakanda, who laughed delightedly, just _stared _uncomprehendingly.

Peter grinned knowingly up at him. “Happy, did you just quote Brooklyn Nine-Nine?” he asked teasingly, before a beaming grin took over his face. “Oh my god! You totally _did_!” He laughed gleefully. “I _knew _you were paying attention!”

Happy rolled his eyes. “Shut up and go introduce yourself, kid.”

Peter’s chuckles tapered off as he nodded. “Okay, okay, I get it.” He turned to face the rest of the room and waved cheerily. (MJ face-palmed in disbelief. “Only you, Peter, _only you,_” she muttered, only for Peter to shoot her a sidelong grin and mouth, _It’s called being polite!_)

“Hey everyone!” he greeted excitedly. “My name’s Peter Parker. You guys probably already heard that I’m from 2024 and that I, uh, died, but you know what, let’s just move on from that.”

He faltered and laughed nervously, eyes flickering from Rhodey and Pepper to his friends, who wordlessly stepped closer towards him as if in support. He flashed the two a smile of thanks and cleared his throat. “Anyway, in my timeline, I’m a part-time vigilante, part-time superhero known as Spider-Man.”

“You know, ‘vigilante’ and ‘superhero’ are really the same thing,” Happy pointed out. Peter looked up at him, and Happy nodded seriously. “Even if you’re working outside of the Accords, you’re still a hero, Peter, because you’re saving lives. _Everyday_ you go out there, _you save lives. _That’s not nothing.”

“Wait—saving lives? Are you an _Avenger_?” Steve blurted out. “But you’re so _young. _Surely you have other things to focus on. School? Friends? How could any of us let you go around _risking your life_?”

Peter blanched and looked away, hurt. Happy’s expression immediately soured, indignant that Steve had distressed Peter. Better than nearly anyone else in the room, Happy _knew _that Peter still carried with him his insecurities that _he wasn’t good enough_—as Spider-Man _and _as Peter Parker. “Trust me,” Happy snapped, “he’s heard it all already. He’s never asked for our permission, and he certainly doesn’t need yours either, _Captain_.”

“Mr. Hogan’s right, you know,” Ned added. Peter looked at him in surprise—he had never imagined that Ned, of all people, would willingly go against one of the very Avengers he revered—but Ned didn’t waver, firm in his resolve.

As much as Ned admired the Avengers, his hero-worship had been tainted by their failure to defend Peter after Beck had framed him for a crime he hadn’t committed. His friend had been on the run for the better part of two months, and—with the exception of Pepper, Happy and surprisingly enough, the Daredevil—_no one _had tried to stand up for Peter.

“Don’t get me wrong, I have _every_ respect for the Avengers,” Ned continued, though his polite smile didn’t reach his eyes, “but you only appear for the world-ending disasters. All you _care_ about is the _major leagues_. You’re there to help with alien invasions and to take down HYDRA bases—and I’m not saying those aren’t important, because obviously they _are_—but what about all the little things? The little things are life-changing, too. And yet when it comes to the robberies, to the rapes, to the hostage situations and the school shootings, you’re nowhere to be seen.”

Steve colored with shame and guilt, while the rest of the Avengers stared at Ned, taken aback by his straightforward accusation. Even for those without Wanda’s powers, it was clear what Ned was thinking: _Can you really call yourselves heroes if you don’t save the ordinary people?_

“It’s true,” MJ agreed, a sardonic sneer on her face. “Look, we’re not trying to blame you or make you feel guilty, but Spider-Man—_Peter_—makes a difference where the Avengers can’t be bothered to.”

“And before you tell yourself that they’re just children who don’t know what they’re talking about, _think again,_” Happy said, distinctly _un_happy as he eyed the doubt on a few of the Avengers’ faces. “They know _exactly _what they’re talking about. And I know that some of you are new to this—especially those of you from 2012—so I’m telling you now: if you want the people’s genuine respect, you _have_ to actually _be there _for them._ Peter’s _there for them. If nothing else, realize that the people _need _heroes like Spider-Man.”

He paused for long enough to let the claim settle amid the tension that enveloped the room. After a moment, he added, his voice grave and severe, “The people need _Spider-Man_, period.”

Peter blinked back tears, and the rest of the gathered heroes and not-heroes alike looked away out of respect, feeling like they were intruding on a private moment. “Thanks, Hap,” he whispered hoarsely. “That means a lot, you know, coming from you.”

Happy shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I’m just saying, don’t put down all the _good_ that you do. Even if no one is thanking you for it right now, _they will. _And don’t forget, I’ve got your back.”

Peter nodded, sniffling quietly. “I, uh, I’ve got your back, too,” he said, youthful enthusiasm fading in a moment of seriousness. His eyes rose to search for Steve. “Well, you heard what they said. And honestly, I have nothing against the Avengers—you guys have always been my heroes—but Happy, Ned and MJ aren’t _wrong. _The people are grateful for what you’ve done, but aliens aren’t the only danger in their lives. So with all due respect, _Captain_, I’ve been through too much and seen too much to stop just because you don’t _approve_.”

“Damn straight,” Happy huffed, lips lifting into a brief smile before it vanished once more beneath his usual facade of practiced indifference. “Don’t let anyone discourage you from doing what you can to help, kid.”

“I hate to interrupt the moment,” Tony butted in. “And I mean that, I really do, because _wow _you are great with kids, Hap—but you said that Peter was working outside of the Accords. What exactly are the Accords?”

Peter and Happy exchanged a panicked glance, the color draining from their faces. “The Accords, heh,” Peter started nervously, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “That one’s a _really _long story. But basically, to summarize, the Accords are a set of laws that were implemented to try to minimize the collateral damage caused by superheroes during battles by regulating their movements.”

“Basically,” Happy agreed.

Tony nodded, unsurprised. He‘d experienced enough politics to know that the government hated feeling out of control. And considering the massive structural damage the Avengers had wrought on New York just that morning, the Accords might very well become necessary.

Steve did not take the news nearly as calmly. “_Regulating _our movements?” he echoed, blanching. “How did the Accords even pass?” he demanded. “What will happen if we’re needed at an emergency and lives are at stake, but the government refuses to let us fight?”

Peter’s face fell. “_Please _don’t argue,” he begged. “The Accords have caused enough conflict in our past. Just – we don’t need another Civil War. Especially not right now.”

“Civil War?” Steve parroted.

“_Don’t _ask,” Happy said firmly, taking a step forward so he was partially shielding Peter from the rest of the room. “You heard what he said. We don’t need to get into this right now. We have more important things to worry about—like where we are, what we’re here for, and how we’re going to escape, for three.”

Steve swallowed thickly and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed.

Peter visibly sagged in relief, and Happy nodded approvingly. Unnoticed by Steve, Peter wasn’t the only one who seemed relieved by Steve’s decision to stand down. Rhodey, Pepper, and the entire group of people from 2016 all seemed to relax, too, the tension seeping from their bodies.

Natasha noted their reactions with narrowed eyes. _There’s something they’re not telling us about the Accords, _she was quick to realize. _Maybe something about this ‘Civil War’? _She made a note to revisit the topic of the Accords later, resolving to figure out why Peter had looked so worried at Steve’s upset reaction.

She traded glances with Clint and Fury, both of whom seemed just as suspicious, and nodded conspiratorially. The time travelers were hiding something, and she wanted to know _what._

“Oh, wow, that took up a lot of time,” Peter changed the subject. “We should probably get back to introductions.” He nodded at his friends to go on.

The girl offered them all a nonchalant nod. “‘Sup,” she greeted emotionlessly. “I’m Michelle Jones. My friends call me MJ. You guys can call me Michelle.”

Peter snorted and buried his face in his hands, imitating MJ as he used her own words from earlier to tease her, “_Only you, MJ._”

Fury blinked, stunned by the girl’s—Michelle’s—noncommittal behavior amidst a group of heroes. _She doesn’t seem to be impressed by the Avengers at all, _he speculated. _Either the Avengers stop mattering in the future, or it’s just this girl who doesn’t care. Or, perhaps, going by her previous words, the more likely answer is that she respects Spider-Man far more than the Avengers._

Tony was similarly stupefied by her indifference. Even before Iron Man, everyone he’d met had reacted to him with awe and amazement. And yet here was this _girl, _boldly implying that she didn’t see them as people worthy of being friends, or as anyone important. For a moment, he found himself admiring her audacity; it was refreshing, honestly, to come across someone who clearly wasn’t affected by his fame and reputation.

The Filipino boy perked up, realizing that it was his turn to go. “And I’m—”

“Ned,” MJ cut in. “This is Ned Leeds, Peter’s best friend and Guy in the Chair. Don’t ask what that means, he’ll take two days to explain it to you.”

“Oh, come on, MJ,” Ned whined. “Everyone else got a chance to introduce themselves! Why did you have to stop me? I wanted to make a good impression on the Avengers—even if they’re not really _our Avengers_, you know, they’re still _Avengers_! They're _heroes, _even if I don't really agree with some of their stances! And did you really have to mention the two days thing? That was _so_ embarrassing. You know it only happened _once_, and I thought we agreed never to speak of it again—”

MJ stared at him, visibly unimpressed as she waited for him to snap back to reality and remember himself.

When he finally did, he flushed, realizing who he’d just rambled in front of. “_Oh_,”—his mouth formed an ‘O’ as his cheeks bloomed red—“so _that’s _why you stopped me. Good call, good call.”

MJ just sighed in a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Loser,” she snorted.

Ned grinned sheepishly at her. “So_rry,_” he whispered, and then waved gracelessly at everyone else, expertly ignoring MJ’s snicker of _you’re just digging yourself a deeper hole, loser. _“Sorry about that,” he repeated, smile morphing into an awkward grimace, “I can get a bit carried away sometimes.”

“_A bit_?” MJ echoed under her breath. “_Sometimes_?” A snort from beside her caught her attention, and she looked up to find Peter frozen, staring back at her with an expression that somehow resembled both a deer caught in headlights and a toddler on the verge of laughter. Her lips twitched upwards into a smirk, and she nudged Peter subtly with her elbow, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, “You’re _just_ as bad, dork.”

His eyes twinkled under the dim lighting of the family theatre. MJ could practically hear the words before he even said them: _‘Hey! I am not! Besides, if _we’re_ bad, then what does that say about _you_ that you keep hanging out with us, huh?’_

“I’ve missed this.”

_I knew it— wait, huh—_

MJ blinked, amusement receding to the back of her mind for a moment as she cocked her head sideways, curious eyes taking in Peter’s reverent expression. The twinkle in his eyes was not born of humor, she realized, or even mock-indignation.

No, his eyes were glowing with _fondness. _With wonder and a dazed sort of raw _happiness._

Later, MJ would refuse to admit it, even to herself, but right now, faced with Peter’s longing, she _softened. _Later, she would claim that she’d never let her guard down, never unlocked the chains around her heart for long enough to duck her head closer towards him and murmur, “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

(What she really meant was _I’ve missed this, too. _What she was really thinking was _I’ve missed you. _And she and Peter both knew it.)

_Later, _she’d deny it until her last breath if ever Peter accused her of showing that she cared. She’d shake her head and bury her thoughts in yet another murder mystery book and pretend she wasn’t truly a part of their little group.

But for now—for _now_—the awed little smile that crept up his lips at the sound of her words was enough. For now, she took refuge in his happiness and let herself _be._

“Great,” Tony interjected loudly, as boisterous as always even despite feeling out of his depth. He was smiling blandly—it was the same smile he always gave to the media: insincere, distrusting and vapid. “Now it’s just those of us from 2012 left.”

MJ reluctantly tore her eyes away from Peter and spared Tony a glance, her heart sinking when she finally caught sight of him. She’d never gotten to know him personally, not the way Peter had, but she _had _been _intensely _aware of how much Tony had _mattered_ to Peter. (How much he _s__till _mattered, despite everything.) And as much as she’d personally disliked Tony for the quintessential rich white man he’d embodied, she couldn’t help but _respect _him for looking out for her friend.

Now, though, Tony was looking more and more like the disinterested persona he presented to the media. MJ bit back a sigh, knowing that Peter would notice the sheer _phoniness _of Tony’s muted gaze and react poorly.

Sure enough, when she dared to look back at Peter, she was met with the sight of him recoiling physically at Tony’s voice and expression, his own smile falling from his face. His eyes misted over with regret and more than a little bit of longing.

After nearly a year without Mr. Stark, after nearly a year with his mentor’s death weighing on his shoulders, he finally had Tony Stark in front of him. And yet, he felt no happiness, no joy. Because as much as he wished he could let himself _savor _Tony’s presence, this _wasn’t _the Tony Stark he knew.

This wasn’t the Tony Stark he’d cared about, the Tony Stark he’d _loved _and dreamt of calling _Dad._

And with every second he spent in this theatre, Tony proved it over and over again: there was not a trace of _his _Mr. Stark here.

Because every time Peter let himself _look _at Tony, all he saw was distance. There was no recognition in this Tony’s eyes, and it _hurt. _Even though he _knew, _logically, that in 2012, Tony Stark had no idea who he was, it still stung to think that he meant nothing to this Tony.

That he _was _nothing to this Tony.

“Peter…” MJ whispered, one hand raising as if to reach out to him. A split-second later, she regained her composure and shook her head, letting her hand drop. “_Peter._”

Peter swallowed roughly and shook his head, turning away. “I’m fine,” he whispered, insistent. “I’m _fine._”

MJ pursed her lips and looked away. He _wasn’t _fine, she knew. But she also knew that she’d never be able to force him to admit it, not until he was _ready _to tell her himself.

“I’m sure you all already know who I am,” Tony’s lips tucked into a haughty smirk, “because who doesn’t?” His smirk faltered when Natasha jabbed him sharply in the ribcage with her elbow. He rolled his eyes, groaned exaggeratedly, and amended, “All right, _fine_. I’ll pretend there’s someone in this room—someone on this _planet_—that still doesn’t know my name and introduce myself: I’m Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man.”

“_Finally,_” Natasha harrumphed. “God, your ego is _appalling. _Tell me, how do you fit your head inside that helmet of yours?”

Tony glared, unamused.

Thor coughed forcefully and hid an entertained grin behind a hand. Clint and Loki, on the other hand, showed no such restraint, guffawing freely.

(Tony glared at them, too.)

“_Break it up, _all of you,” Fury sighed. “Honestly, one would think you’re all a bunch of _children _from the way you act. Come on, show some _sensibility _and stop prolonging this. You’re the _Avengers._”

“I don’t see the problem with a little team banter, director,” Steve countered, eyes crinkling fondly at the corners as he gazed upon his teammates. “But I do agree that we should get our introductions over with quickly so we can proceed. My name is Steve Rogers, but most people know me as Captain America.”

“Bruce Banner,” Bruce followed suit quickly, not wanting to draw attention to himself for longer than necessary. “I, uh, turn into the Hulk when I get angry,” he explained quietly after a second’s pause, grimacing.

Peter and Happy exchanged a narrow-eyed look. “Should we tell him?” Happy whispered, quietly enough that only Peter could hear him. “We shouldprobably tell him, right?”

“It might be helpful,” Peter admitted, frowning. It was _strange _to hear Bruce like this: ashamed and self-conscious about the Hulk. He’d only ever met Bruce personally _after _he’d further modified his genetic makeup to fuse his two personas and become Professor Hulk.

He’d never known Bruce _before _Professor Hulk.

“Well, we can give it some more thought,” Happy suggested. “We don’t have to let him know now. We can’t be sure how telling him will affect the time continuum, after all.”

Peter hummed in agreement, though his gaze remained fixed on Bruce’s vulnerable expression. It felt _wrong, _staying silent when he had information that could _help _Bruce.

“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly, “yeah.”

“Clint Barton,” Clint spoke up next. “Master archer and one of the Avengers.”

“Black Widow,” Natasha said shortly. Clint turned to look at her expectantly, but she merely shrugged, refusing to elaborate.

It wasn’t until Fury cleared his throat impatiently that her eye twitched and she relented, though only enough to reveal her first name: “Natasha.”

“I guess that’s the best I can ask for,” Fury grumbled. “I’m the Director of SHIELD. My name is Nick Fury, but I better not hear anyone call me anything other than _Fury _or _Director._”

Peter bit back a smile, vividly remembering Carol’s fond, albeit exasperated, retellings of her adventure with Fury in the 90s.

_“‘Everybody calls me Fury. Not Nicholas, not Joseph, not Nick,’” Carol adopted an exaggeratedly low voice as she imitated Fury surprisingly accurately, her hands waving around grandly. “‘Just _Fury_.’”_

_Peter chortled with laughter. “You’re really good at that,” he remarked with a delighted grin. Carol never failed to bring a spot of light and laughter into his life._

_“Oh, yeah?” Carol smirked at him. “You like my Fury impression? Well, you better—I’ve been working on it for decades.” She paused, then winked at him conspiratorially, as if swearing him to secrecy. “Don’t tell him that, though. He’d think we’re mocking him—and he’d be right, but I don’t want to have to deal with the inevitable temper tantrum that would ensue if he found out.”_

_Peter’s eyes brightened with elation. “I won’t breathe a word, Ms. Danvers, ma’am,” he promised, pretending to zip up his lips. Too preoccupied with the thrill of sharing a secret with _the _all-powerful Captain Marvel (!!!), Peter never noticed the fond, almost adoring, expression that engulfed her features. He never realized that, in that moment, Carol vowed to protect him with every fiber in her body; he was just a _kid_, after all—granted, a kid with super-strength and enhanced abilities, but a kid nonetheless—and he deserved some _happiness_ amidst the struggles of being a teenage hero._

_Carol decided, then and there, that she would do whatever she could to make him smile as much as humanly possible._

_Tucking the promise safely into her heart, Carol forged on and put on the mask of Nick Fury once more. “‘How _dare_ you insult me this way, Danvers,’” she acted out her imagination of Fury’s reaction to finding out about her impersonation of him, her voice returning to the overdramatic booming impression. “‘I am the _director_ of SHIELD! My station _demands_ respect!’”_

_Carol had a feeling that, by the time the next day arrived, her voice would be hoarse and raspy from overuse and playing up the bellowing effect, but it was entirely worth it when Peter fell off the couch, giggling uncontrollably._

The pleasant memory faded, but the content smile lingered on Peter’s lips. He _missed_ Carol. Some time before his trip to Europe, she’d left Earth temporarily to carry out an errand or ten in outer space, and before this entire time travel mess occurred, she had still yet to return.

“I also work for SHIELD,” the female agent beside Fury announced, snapping Peter out of his haze before he could fall down the rabbit hole of wondering how much _better _Carol would have handled the whole Mysterio situation compared to him. Peter swallowed his self-pity and refocused on the present, eyes flitting to the agent. He was briefly brought back to his recent formal introduction to SHIELD before the woman continued, “It’s Maria Hill.”

“And I am Thor,” Thor declared, undeniably _majestic _in a way no mortal could emulate. “Son of Odin and God of Thunder. I had the pleasure of working with my fellow heroes to best my brother in battle earlier today.”

Loki coughed. “I would not call myself _bested,_” he protested mildly, eyes lidded. “_I, _meanwhile, have the _misfortune _of having to call you brother at all. I’m Loki, God of Mischief.”

“Fantastic,” Tony snarked. “Now that we’re all acquainted, perhaps we should move this to the couches? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d love to stretch out my legs.” Without waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and strode over towards the sofas. He immediately claimed the wide sofa situated across the TV, plopping comfortably down in the middle.

Everyone else was quick to follow, with Bruce taking the seat directly beside Tony. Steve squeezed himself in next to Bruce, while Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a fleeting glance before taking their seats on Tony’s other side, with Pepper huddled in between Tony and Rhodey.

Clint rushed towards another sofa, located to the left of Tony’s and diagonal to the TV. As soon as he was within feet of the sofa, he launched himself at the cushions and landed with a breathless exhale. Natasha rolled her eyes at his childish behavior, but wordlessly sat herself down next to him. The other SHIELD members trailed after them, Fury taking the outermost seat.

Happy spared Tony a lingering glance before shaking his head and heading towards the last sofa to Tony’s right, the memories of Tony’s death and his funeral still too raw in his mind. “Peter,” he murmured when he saw the kid frozen in between the two sofas, eyes wide and indecisive.

Peter turned to Happy. “_Happy,_” he whispered Happy’s name like it was a plea, a desperate call for help. It broke Happy’s heart. “I…”

Happy shook his head minutely. “You know you’re only going to hurt yourself,” he said under his breath, well aware that Peter’s hearing was sensitive enough to catch the words. “You _know _that. Don’t do this to yourself, Peter.”

Peter let Happy’s words sink in and nodded jerkily, turning away from Tony with finality and falling into the seat beside Happy. He inhaled sharply, breath shaky with grief and _anguish, _and buried his head in his hands.

“You’re okay, Peter,” his best friend’s voice soothed, a familiar warmth gripping one of his hands and easing it away from his face. “You’re okay. We’re all okay.”

Peter looked blearily up at Ned, tears making his vision blurry, and smiled weakly. Ned blinked rapidly and leaned in closer, wrapping Peter up in a comforting hug. “We’re _going to be okay._”

“He’s right, nerd,” MJ called out from Ned’s other side. Peter opened his eyes, head still leaning against Ned’s, and found her smiling slightly at them. She nodded once, a thousand unspoken words conveyed through that single nod, and he nodded back.

Ned released Peter finally, and Peter smiled at both of his friends as he settled back into his seat. _I’m so lucky, _he thought, breathless with awe and gratitude, _to have you guys._

When he turned back towards the rest of the room, he saw that Wanda had floated a nest of pillows and blankets over from a wardrobe near the entrance and formed a makeshift bed on the floor in the middle of the three long sofas. She, Bucky, Sam and Scott were huddled together on one side of the bed, while Shuri was sprawled out on the other side, T’Challa perched nearby. Vision, meanwhile, was hovering in the air, legs folded into a cross-legged position in a semblance of normalcy.

Finally, Thor had jogged over and seated himself under Steve and Bruce, with the two other Avengers tucking in their legs to make space for him. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, his fingers curled lightly around Mjölnir as he made himself comfortable.

Peter looked around the room, taking note of everyone’s positions in a habit that did not escape his notice. _This is on Beck, _he thought. _I can’t trust myself, and I can’t trust that everyone is who they say they are. _

_Without trust, who am I?_

He stopped short, frown deepening, when he spotted Loki on his own, standing quietly off to the side with a dark (_lonely_) expression on his face. He looked around again, noting that the other sofas were already mostly full (except Fury’s, but he knew better than to make Loki sit with the SHIELD agents; he didn’t have a _death wish_). The makeshift bed, too, was beginning to look cramped.

(He definitely saw the way Steve kept glancing at the tiny empty space next to Bucky every so often.)

There was only one other option, then.

His eyes narrowed, and he hissed at Ned out of the corner of his mouth, “Move over a bit.”

Ned blinked, uncomprehending, but did as instructed without questioning.

Peter steeled his resolve and raised his hand, calling out fearlessly, “Loki!” He fought off a wince when Loki’s head snapped around towards him, the god’s dark glare drilling into him. “Come sit with us!”

“_Peter,_” Happy hissed in warning, hand gripping Peter’s raised wrist and tugging it down sharply. “What are you _doing_?”

Peter gently but firmly pulled his hand away. “Just _trust me,_” he muttered, eyes never leaving Loki. “There’s an empty seat here for you,” he projected his voice again, patting the newly cleared space next to him softly. Ned squeaked quietly, but Peter resolutely ignored him, instead choosing to continue smiling encouragingly at Loki.

Loki hesitated for a few seconds before coming to a decision, nodding regally and gliding over, his cape swirling behind him.

_Sorry, Ned, _Peter mouthed silently at his friend just before Loki sat down, blocking Ned’s wide eyes from view.

Ned leaned backwards and peered at Peter through the small gap behind Loki. _I hope you know what you’re doing, _he mouthed back, one eyebrow arched.

Peter paused, chewing his lip contemplatively, before nodding. _Trust me on this, _he pleaded.

Ned sighed and gave Peter a small smile. _You know I trust you, _he conveyed and shook his head exasperatedly, turning back to the front and settling in as comfortably as he could with a villainous (quasi-villainous?) god beside him.

Peter expelled a silent sigh of relief and faced Loki, beaming. “Hi!” he greeted fearlessly, tilting his head sideways. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Loki blinked, floundering in the face of Peter’s kindness. In the face of kindness, _period. _(Kindness without an ulterior motive, kindness without traitorous intentions, kindness without _a knife hidden behind his back._) “It’s…” his throat felt hoarse, choked with _emotion, _raw and genuine. “It’s nice to meet me?” he finished, voice barely a whisper in the dark. A _secret._

Peter’s smile gentled, eyes flashing with sadness but not _pity. _He knew better than anyone how grating pity could be. “Of course,” he replied without deceit. “I mean, I definitely wish the circumstances were different—speaking of which, we _really _should get to figuring out why we’re here—but yeah. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Loki swallowed. He wanted to deflect, wanted to _doubt,_ wanted to turn away and ignore the Midgardian child and his _innocence, _but something stopped him.

Peter wasn’t lying. Loki _knew _that. He was the God of Mischief, after all, and he’d been wielding lies since long before Peter was even born. He was an _expert _in the art, and he _knew _what dishonesty looked like. There was no such trace in Peter’s expression, his voice, his _eyes._

Faced with those eyes, how could he do anything but _believe_?

The answer was he couldn’t. (The answer was he _did _believe, and it terrified him. It terrified him because of how much he _wanted _this, Peter’s friendliness. It made him feel like he _mattered, _in some unfathomable way.)

“It’s — it’s nice to meet you, too,” he struggled to say, but Peter’s rewarding smile made it worth it, somehow. His uncertainty eased, and he smiled back, just barely.

Loki didn’t notice the way Fury’s gaze turned thoughtful, contemplative from across the room. He didn’t notice the way Tony _choked _in shock. He didn’t notice the way his brother hid the smallest of smiles—hid _pride_—behind a facade of disbelief. (No matter how _angry _Thor was at Loki for attacking the Earth, no matter how much Loki had _hurt_ him, a part of him would always be Loki’s brother. That would never change.)

Loki didn’t notice anything but the way Peter’s smile widened in understanding just before he looked away, well aware that any more _emotion _would overwhelm Loki. Loki was privately grateful. He’d never felt so _exposed, _so _vulnerable, _before now, and he needed a second to think—to _breathe._

Peter seemed to understand that. He pressed his knee against Loki’s—briefly, very briefly, for barely two seconds before he let up on the pressure—and addressed the rest of the room as if nothing had happened: “So. Now that you’ve gotten the chance to _stretch out your legs_, Mr. Stark,”—Peter’s voice wavered over the shape and sound of his mentor’s name, his breath shallowing with uncertainty—“we should cut to the point. Does anyone have any clue why we’re all here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know it might have sounded a little like I hate the Avengers in this chapter, but I honestly have nothing against them. I love the Avengers (so please don't come at me for what I made Happy and Ned and MJ say).
> 
> Also, just in case any of you wanted to see the seating plan, here it is:
> 
> Leftmost sofa: [Fury - Hill - Natasha - Clint]
> 
> Middle sofa: [Steve - (Thor on the floor, leaning against sofa) - Bruce - Tony - Pepper - Rhodey]
> 
> Rightmost sofa: [Happy - Peter - Loki - Ned - MJ]
> 
> Makeshift bed in between the sofas: [Scott - Sam - Wanda - Bucky] [Shuri - T’Challa] [Vision]
> 
> Edited as of 4/9/2020: I somehow completely forgot to include Pepper and Rhodey in the introductions (please don't kill me), so that has now been fixed! I've also added a short flashback of Peter interacting with Carol Danvers, because I adore Captain Marvel.


	4. Project Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their "captor" is finally revealed, as is the reason they have all been gathered together.

Not for the first time, silence reigned. This time, though, the silence was laced with tension instead of shock as everyone exchanged nervous glances with others from their own timelines.

Peter sighed. He’d become intimately familiar with silence over the last couple of months on the run from world governments. For so long, his only companion had been the noiseless whispers of the wind; he’d even call silence a friend by now, if not for the fact that the quiet made him _shiver._

He missed his old life. He missed his friends, his classmates and even his teachers. Most of all, he missed his aunt.

_I’m tired of silence, _he thought, fingers anxiously flexing and curling on his lap.

Perhaps Mr. Stark was able to read his mind even now before they’d officially met, or perhaps he’d simply grown impatient himself, because Tony soon sat up straight and cleared his throat. “I’m guessing that’s a unanimous ‘no’ from all timelines, yes?”

Everyone nodded mutely.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, clearly we’re getting nowhere,” he snorted. “Unless you’re all—”

“The notepad,” Wanda murmured, lifting one finger to point at a nondescript yellow notepad lying innocuously atop the TV stand. “Perhaps we’ll find a clue amid its pages.”

Sam smiled encouragingly. “Good eye, Wanda,” he praised. He waited for no more than half a beat, head cocked sideways in a silent question: _Should I go get the notepad or are you going to use your telekinesis?_

Wanda, noticing his unspoken expectation, hesitated briefly before shaking her head, head bowed and eyes haunted. Even without explaining, it was clear to Sam that her thoughts were on her audience—she’d never liked to divulge much about her feelings, but Sam knew it hurt her every time someone reacted poorly to her magic.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam murmured to her under his breath, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly for a split-second. She offered him a shaky, grateful smile, and he smiled back, hopping up to his feet.

As soon as he had his fingers wrapped around the notepad, he cast Tony an inquiring look. “Would you like to do the honors,_ Iron Man_?”

Tony hid a smug grin at the fact that Sam had turned to him. And yet, even as he nodded in agreement, easily catching the notepad in one hand upon Sam’s toss, he couldn’t help but think that Sam’s question had nothing to do with respect. There had been no hint of reverence in Sam’s voice, nor on Sam’s face—something told him that here, surrounded by all of these time-travelers, his status as both Tony Stark and Iron Man didn’t amount to much.

Still, he said nothing as he flipped open the notepad, skimming quickly through the pages. He was only vaguely aware that Sam had jogged back towards Wanda and Bucky when he finally spotted a dash of color on one of the pages.

He paused. “You were right,” he addressed Wanda’s suspicions, though his gaze remained fixated on the notepad. A short string of words met his stare, printed neatly in a computerized font instead of scribbled in someone's messy handwriting. “There’s something here.”

“What does it say?” Happy pressed.

Tony hummed and read aloud, adopting a slightly more serious tone, “_To all those I have gathered—_”

“Kidnapped,” Clint muttered with a snort.

“—_here today,_” Tony continued, eyes briefly leaving the page to shoot Clint a quick glare for the interruption, “_please remain calm. I do not intend to harm you in any way. _That’s the only thing it says.”

“That’s _it_? Then why are we even _here_?” Rhodey asked, exasperated.

Tony frowned. “Maybe there’s something on the back,” he theorized, flipping the sheet over. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “_P.S.,” _he read aloud, “_s__ay EDITH._”

Peter stiffened at that, head snapping up to stare wide-eyed at Tony. “EDITH...?” he murmured to himself, jaw agape. “There’s no way, right?”

Happy, being the only other person who knew EDITH, exchanged a worried glance with Peter. “What’s going on, Peter?” he asked, lowering his voice so only Peter could hear him. “What does EDITH have to do with this? Did someone manage to get their hands on Tony’s tech again?”

“No way,” Peter shook his head adamantly, “I made sure to keep EDITH on me at all times after the mess with Beck.” He paused, raising his hands to press against his hoodie and feel for the telltale shape of his glasses hanging from his inside shirt. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he came into contact with the glasses. “I still have the EDITH glasses,” he confirmed to Happy, who relaxed minutely but still looked concerned.

Before they could discuss the problem any longer, the large television screen reacted to Tony’s words. Static burst to life on the screen, before the pixels finally solidified into an image of a holographic woman who looked eerily similar to May Parker.

Peter squinted, instantly taken aback. “Is that... my aunt?” he spluttered in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“That’s definitely her,” Happy agreed beside him, causing Peter to side-eye him. Happy flushed when he noticed Peter’s narrow-eyed stare. “Oh, shut it. Not a word out of you, kid.”

“Do you two know that woman?” Fury demanded, catching snippets of their conversation. “Is she the mastermind behind this kidnapping?”

“No way,” Peter denied immediately, without hesitation. “That’s my Aunt May. I have no idea what she has to do with any of this, but she wouldn’t kidnap us. She’s the best!”

Happy coughed. “I can confirm that Ms. Parker is indeed a good person,” he agreed reluctantly, refusing to look Peter in the eye as they were both well aware of _how_ exactly Happy knew that.

“Then why is she on that screen?” Fury frowned, glaring at them distrustfully.

Rhodey sighed. “Let’s just watch and see,” he offered. “I might not know Ms. Parker personally, but I trust Peter and Happy’s judgement.”

Fury grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly kept the rest of his suspicions silent.

“_Hello, everyone,_” the visage of May on the screen greeted, face calm and serene. “_I’m sure you’re all wondering why I brought you here._”

“No shit,” Sam huffed.

“Not to mention _how,_” Natasha added with a scowl. She resented the thought that someone—_anyone_—had been able to sneak up on her unguarded. (There mere _idea_ left her feeling vulnerable and exposed, and if there was one thing Natasha Romanoff was _not_, it was vulnerable.)

Peter was frowning. “That’s _definitely _not my aunt’s voice,” he announced. “That was...” he hesitated, glanced at Happy, and finally revealed with a reluctant swallow, “that was EDITH’s voice.”

“The name on the note? Who even _is_ Edith?” Tony followed up. “Her voice almost sounded like it was synthesized by a computer.”

“That’s because EDITH is an AI,” Peter replied, his voice strained. He found himself avoiding looking Tony in the eye, the thought of his death and the more recent memory of Beck’s illusions making him distant. “Actually, Mr. Stark, you’re the one who created EDITH.”

“I did?” Tony blinked. “Why would I need EDITH when I have JARVIS?”

Peter tensed. Tony had only vaguely mentioned JARVIS to him once, but Peter would never forget the pain and grief in his eyes when he’d spoken of his late butler-turned-AI.

“You gave EDITH to Peter,” Happy answered succinctly while also expertly side-stepping the question about JARVIS, saving Peter from a difficult topic.

Peter just nodded quietly, not trusting himself to be able to keep the rest of it a secret if he opened his mouth.

“_First, let me introduce myself. I am an augmented reality security, defense and artificial tactical intelligence system created by Tony Stark,” _the hologram explained. _“I am currently taking on the form of May Parker, aunt of Spider-Man. I chose Ms. Parker because my observations have informed me that she is one of the most important people, if not _the _most important person, in Peter Parker’s life. As Mr. Parker is now in charge of my systems, it is crucial that I understand him as an individual.”_

“That’s all well and good,” Tony cut in, “but why are _we _all here? Why us?”

“_I brought you all here as part of Project Freedom, which began as an effort to vindicate Mr. Parker in the eyes of the public. The primary aim of Project Freedom is to portray Mr. Parker in an innocent, positive light,” _May—_EDITH_—replied. “_To that end, I’ve spent the last two months scanning every satellite and CCTV camera available to my systems, and accumulating all relevant footage to form a documentary covering the events that occurred during Mr. Parker’s Europe excursion._”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “EDITH, you… you did all that?” he breathed in awe. “_Why_? I never asked you to compile any footage for me.”

“_Tony Stark created me to be the most sentient among all of his AI systems,_” EDITH explained. “_Even without your express command, I was able to initiate Project Freedom on my own, basing my decisions off of every protocol surrounding your protection that exists in my code.”_

“Yeah, that _still_ doesn’t really tell me anything about why you’re showing your ‘documentary’ to _us,_ of all people—”

_“If you’d be patient and stop interrupting me every few seconds, Mr. Stark, I’d tell you,” _EDITH cut him off, an undeniable sassiness in her voice that made them all pause.

“Damn,” Rhodey whistled, grinning. “That’s _definitely_ your AI,” he snickered, reaching over Pepper to nudge Tony—who was gaping gracelessly—pointedly.

“_In any case, I have to admit, I initially had no intentions of choosing you all as my audience. I didn’t realize that possibility was open to me. But after I finished connecting all of the necessary footage together, I registered that I had access to the blueprints for the time travel device designed by Tony Stark._”

“Are you saying _I _created time travel?” Tony demanded. He’d always had faith in his own intelligence, but Clint had been right—time travel _was _farfetched, even for him. “Or that… I _will_, at least?”

“That’s crazy,” Clint whispered, “_right_?”

“Time travel is a topic many scientists have attempted to meddle with in the past,” Bruce said, “but none have succeeded. In many ways, time travel _should _be impossible as it directly interferes with several laws of physics. However, considering we are all _here, _I think we can safely say that EDITH is telling the truth. Somehow, _some way_, Tony manages to invent time travel in the future.”

He paused. “Wow. I never thought I’d say those words,” Bruce admitted.

“I never thought I’d _hear _those words,” Shuri added. She looked at Tony with a critical eye. She’d always thought lowly of American science, believing it to be, in a word, _overrated, _but clearly Tony Stark was an exception. According to EDITH, not only had Stark invented a fully functioning time machine, but he had _also _created an AI intelligent and self-aware enough to make her own decisions.

A smile slowly spread across her face. “Impressive,” she murmured under her breath, garnering a knowing glance from T’Challa.

“_Yes. In the timeline I, Mr. Parker, Mr. Hogan, Mr. Leeds and Ms. Jones originate from, you are the one responsible for inventing time travel,_” EDITH answered. “_As for the why: during my time with Mr. Parker, he spoke with me often regarding his desire to change his past by causing a divergence in the War of 2023.”_

Peter choked. EDITH was right; he _had_, on several occasions, confided in EDITH about his many regrets surrounding Thanos, the most prominent of which was the death of his mentor. He distinctly remembered sitting on the roof of a warehouse one day during his time as a fugitive, taking comfort in EDITH’s steady voice humming in his ear as he whispered, “_I wish I could have saved him,” _over and over again.

_“As my priorities include Mr. Parker’s safety and happiness, I made the decision to enlist the help of my fellow AI, FRIDAY, in tweaking the time travel device to bring you all to this location once activated. FRIDAY and I specifically selected all of you from your respective timelines based on several criteria—the main two of which are that you have all had the chance to become acquainted with at least one other Avenger, and you all play major roles in the actions of the Avengers going forwards. Before releasing the footage to the public in my timeline, I will play the same footage for your perusal in the hopes that you may work together to alter the events of the War and prevent the aftermath from occurring._”

“The War of 2023?” Natasha asked sharply. “What does she mean by that? What war will we face?”

Peter lowered his gaze, knowing better than to tell her. He didn’t need to consult Dr. Strange to know how very _reckless _and _stupid _this was. In fact, if Dr. Strange were here now, he would probably spend upwards of twenty minutes lecturing Peter on the dangers of interfering with the past.

_“What were you thinking, Peter!?” _Peter could practically hear him now. _“If you screw up here, you could potentially erase yourself altogether. You could _undo_ the reversal of the Blip. You and trillions of others would be dead again—and this time, for much longer than five years._”

But wait. _That’s not true, _Peter realized. _Didn’t Bruce once explain that our actions can cause a whole set of new timelines to branch off of the original timeline? I wouldn’t be destroying my timeline, just creating _alternate_ timelines._

_And maybe… Maybe one of those alternate timelines won’t have to deal with the death of Mr. Stark. _Maybe one of those timelines would get the happy ending Peter had been robbed of. Maybe some version of Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and _Morgan _somewhere out there would get to have Tony for much longer than his own timeline had.

_Isn’t that worth it? Isn’t that worth _everything_?_

Yes, Peter decided firmly. _Yes. _Saving Tony Stark… it would be worth the _world_.

“It’s hard to explain if you didn’t experience it for yourself,” he started, deciding to take EDITH’s offering and run with it. This was a _gift, _he realized, and he would have to be a fool to not take advantage of it. “But I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

“Peter,” Happy whispered. “Are you sure—?”

“Yes,” Peter answered, capturing Happy’s wide-eyed gaze with his own and nodding firmly. “Happy, you know that the Avengers risked _everything _to bring me and the others back. And everyone says we won, but no one cares to focus on what we _lost. _Because we _did _lose, Happy. We lost _too much._ And if I can change that in even one timeline, then I think that’s worth it.”

Happy nodded. “Okay, then,” he agreed, because he understood what it was like to miss Tony Stark and feel like nothing would ever get better. “Let’s do it.”

Peter smiled gratefully at him, and then addressed Natasha and the rest of the room, “EDITH mentioned the War of 2023, but that was just the culmination of many different battles. In reality, the war was triggered much earlier than that, when I died in 2018. Because the thing is, I wasn’t the only one who died.”

He spared his friends a look, taking comfort in their encouraging nods as he inhaled deeply and continued, “2018 saw a massacre on a scale of _unimaginable_ levels. When I died, so did _trillions _of others—humans and aliens alike. Everywhere across the known and unknown universe, half of all life forms on _every_ planet turned to dust. No place in the galaxy was left untouched by death.”

Before Peter’s eyes, everyone assembled by EDITH fell silent, Pepper and Rhodey averting their eyes as the news sank into the minds of all those previously oblivious.

Tony was the first to react, shooting to his feet and pacing back and forth as he shook his head desperately. “_No_,” he barked, as if he wished he could alter reality with a single word. “No. There’s no way. That’s... that’s just _not_ _possible_.”

“Six years ago, I would have said the same thing,” Peter agreed. “But it _is_ possible. 50% of the universe was _decimated_ within the span of a few _seconds, _if not less.” There was no easy way to put it. No one else seemed to remember, but Peter couldn’t _forget _the feeling of breaking apart into pieces under the horrified stare of his mentor.

Peter remembered everything. He remembered the fear, the unshakable _panic, _the _pain_. It clung to him even now, months after he’d been brought back to the land of the living.

“_Seconds_?” Shuri whispered in horror, none of the lively, animated young girl she typically was evident in her demeanor now. “We all just... _vanished_? Without a trace?”

“Yeah,” it was Rhodey who answered now, his voice thick with anguish. “Fifty percent died, and fifty percent remained.”

Tony stumbled back to his seat, collapsing into the sofa with shaky exhale. He turned to gaze at Pepper and Rhodey, haunted by a new understanding of the weight that burdened them every second.

Shuri whimpered, tears clinging to her eyelashes. Beside her, her brother shuffled closer and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, keeping her close.

From his seat on his own sofa, Clint watched them with a heavy stare. He couldn’t help but think of his own family, safe and sound in his country home. But what if, six years later, they _aren’t_ safe anymore? What if they would be a part of the fifty percent who died?

Clint shuddered just to think about it. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost his family.

“Clint,” Natasha whispered, beseeching. “_Clint._”

Clint turned to look at her. Natasha’s eyes were all at once warm with understanding and hard with determination. “_Nat_,”—his voice broke—“I...”

“The future isn’t set in stone, Clint,” she reminded him, steely. “That’s why we’re here. So we can _change _things. We’ll make sure their future never becomes ours.”

“What if we can’t?” his voice was hushed with uncertainty, with _fear. _He locked eyes with her and whispered, as if it were a sin: “What if we _fail_?”

Natasha’s lips curled at the corners to form a smile, but her expression was laced with grim resolve and no joy. “We won’t,” she promised, well aware of where his mind had wandered to, “because we _can’t_.”

Clint thought again of his family, clueless of the dangers that might one day face them, and knew that Natasha was right. They couldn’t _afford_ to lose. _He _couldn’t.

“It’s only been a few months for us, but the effects of the Blip are unavoidable. Everywhere I go, I see its impact,” Pepper spoke up, head bowed as if in mourning, blind to the rest of the room. “World governments collapsed, economies were destroyed, entire _countries_ fell into ruin. Panic and hysteria are at an all time high, and there’s been a drastic rise in crime and violence everywhere. _The world’s on fire,_ and we’re helpless to fix it.”

“Or so we thought,” Rhodey corrected, eyes narrowing shrewdly. “But you said you and the others were all brought back to life. _How_?“

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Peter said quietly.

Rhodey recoiled. “_Of course _we want to know! What are you saying—?”

“There’s a reason EDITH is showing you this,” Peter interrupted, firm but not unkind. There was an undeniable graveness to his expression that silenced Rhodey’s protests. “Sure, we won, but to some—to _us_—it was at a price too high.”

Happy brought a hand down on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Maybe if you knew ahead of time—maybe if you knew everything we do—you’ll be able to reverse the Blip _without_ paying that price,” Peter said, almost pleadingly. He looked up at Rhodey, and Rhodey swallowed tightly at the sight of tears in his eyes. “I’ll still tell you how my timeline’s Avengers fixed the Blip—because you _do_ deserve to know what you’re getting yourselves into—but I suggest you wait to ask me again until _after_ you’ve watched what EDITH has to show us.”

“It’s too late for us,” Happy took over, “but maybe it isn’t too late for you guys. There might still be another way to save your world—without the sacrifices of ours.”

The room was quiet for a long moment afterwards. Even EDITH kept the screen blank, intelligent enough to wait to play her collection of footage.

Before today, Tony had never believed in the possibility of a ‘_deafening silence._’ He was devoted to science, after all, and he knew that nothing was ever truly silent. But in that moment, as they all stewed over Peter and Happy’s cautionary words, Tony knew what it meant to face a silence so _overwhelming _it felt genuinely deafening.

He struggled to come to terms with the thought of Peter’s future—a future that sounded so _bleak _that his stomach rolled with nausea. They’d just fought off Loki earlier that day—though it seemed like an eternity had since passed—and now Peter was telling them that it would be for nothing, that another threat—a _worse_ threat—would come to destroy them all.

His mind unwittingly flashed back to the fleet of aliens he’d caught a glimpse of in space when he’d shot through the wormhole, and fear flared bright in his chest. He’d thought, for a horrifying moment in that wormhole, that that ship would one day be the end of the Earth. That they would face another army of aliens in the future, and that they _wouldn’t be able to defeat them the next time._

Had he been right?

Was there even any use in trying to stop it? Or was death merely an inevitability?

_No, _he tried to tell himself. _We wouldn’t be here if we had no chance. There _has_ to be hope._

“Who?” Tony whispered, even as a part of him _shrieked_ at him to take it back. Even as a part of him _wasn’t ready to know. _“Who’s responsible for... the Blip? And – and the War?”

Peter’s eyes darkened. _“Thanos,” _he whispered, and that single word carried with it all of his broken hopes and dreams, all of his greatest nightmares that ended with Mr. Stark’s name on his lips.

Rhodey sank deeper into the sofa at the sound of Thanos’s name, pain and exhaustion weighing him down. Pepper closed her eyes and gulped down a strangled sob. Happy narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists so tight his palms bled.

But it was Loki whose reaction drew everyone’s attention. He flinched physically as though he’d been struck by Mjölnir itself, his face pale and stricken as he processed Peter’s revelation. “He did it,” Loki whispered, his voice fringed by raw terror. “He got what he wanted in the end. He _won._”

Peter swallowed, and for a brief moment as he looked into Loki’s eyes, a vision of his world’s Thor—raw and _broken_ by the death of his brother—flashed across his line of sight. “Yes,” Peter murmured, unblinking, “he did.”

_(“My brother told me the sun would shine on us again,” Thor whispered one night under the judgmental gaze of twinkling stars, the imperial blue of his eyes turned indigo by grief. “And it has, but he’s not here to see it.”)_

Peter had never had the chance to meet Loki in person before today. He might not have known Loki, but he _had _known a Thor muted by the aftermath of the War, soulful eyes haunted by the ghosts of his family, and that was enough to tell him that Loki _mattered. _And even if only one person cared about him, Peter knew he would do _everything_ in his power to make sure Loki survived in another world.

Because to Thor, Loki meant the universe. To _Thor_, Loki was life-changing.

“The – the _stones,_” Loki croaked, voice quivering, sounding nothing like the powerful God of Mischief he was known to be. “_How? _The soul stone is supposed to be _irretrievable_ – ”

“_The soul stone_? Loki, tell me you aren’t talking about the infinity stones. _Tell me you aren’t,_” Thor interrupted, face abruptly pale. When Loki refused to look at him, Thor inhaled sharply and demanded, “Loki, what do you _know_? Who is this Thanos, and what does he want with the soul stone?”

“_The Mad Titan_,” the name left Loki’s lips with the weight of the apocalypse. “He who seeks all the infinity stones.”

“That’s not possible,” Thor laughed shakily. “Right? _Right_?”

Loki returned his gaze to Peter, beseeching. “You said he succeeds,” Loki pointed out, like an accusation. “He must have found all of the stones. Did – _will_ he?”

Peter’s jaw shifted.

(_He’s not here to see it, _Thor had said, dreams torn in half, Stormbreaker lying heavy and _useless _beside him. _He’s not here._)

See, the thing was, Peter had chosen to become Spider-Man because he never wanted anyone to have to _lose _again. He’d become Spider-Man with the echo of his uncle’s parting words—“_With great power comes great responsibility_”_—_chasing at his heels.

Ultimately, he’d _failed. _He’d failed because he hadn’t been strong enough to take Thanos down the first go-around. He’d failed because he’d_ held _Thanos’s gauntlet in his hands for a second—a _second_—before Thanos had taken it back. He’d failed because he’d grasped the chance to _beat Thanos_ and he’d let _himself_ be beaten instead.

He’d failed because he’d stood there _helpless _as Tony Stark laid down his life to rid the world of Thanos.

He’d failed because _so many _had lost.

And now he had a second chance. He had the opportunity to _make it right._

He couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ fail again. (He refused to.)

“_No_,” he snarled through gritted teeth, catching Loki’s eyes and conveying every ounce of determination, every _shred_ of resolve, through his gaze. “He won’t win again. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

From beyond Loki, Ned’s eyes drilled into him, a constant reminder of his failure. (How could he have let his _best friend_ die, fading away into _nothing_?) “What are you planning, Peter?” His voice was low and breathy, like he didn’t dare speak too loud for fear of shattering Peter’s will. “What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done the _second_ the Avengers told me what it was they risked to bring us back,” Peter answered, voice _bleeding_ with earnest sincerity. He nodded once at Ned, and then met Loki’s eyes intently. “The soul stone is _difficult_ to retrieve, but not impossible. Most just say it is because of the price it demands.”

“'Price'?” Loki asked.

Peter nodded. “A sacrifice,” he said softly, sadly.

Loki stiffened, and didn’t dare ask more, his words stilled by the look on Peter’s face. Peter’s expression was littered by scars, a canvas built on the destruction of another, and Loki wasn’t sure he wanted to know the story behind it.

“I think we should leave any other questions for after we’ve watched all the footage,” Happy spoke up in suggestion, knowing eyes softening with sympathy at the sight of Peter’s regret. “The full story is, after all, a long and sad one. Believe me, the longer you don’t know the true extent of Thanos’s cruelty, the better.”

“You know what they say,” MJ smiled mirthlessly, eyes hazy with remembrance. “Ignorance is bliss.”

“Right,” Pepper agreed readily, not quite ready to rehash the nightmare that was Thanos. She still remembered every second of fear that had gripped her during the twenty-three days Tony was missing, stuck drifting aimlessly through space. “All of that can wait until later.”

“Yeah, _later_.” Rhodey nodded, a little desperate. “Let’s just – let’s just start the footage.”

“EDITH,” Peter called out. “You heard him. Play the footage for us, please.”

_“Of course, Boss,_” EDITH complied. EDITH might not have been able to see it, but for Natasha and Fury, it was impossible to miss the way Peter froze and curled in on himself at the title of ‘Boss’. “_Activating Protocol Freedom now.”_

“O – okay, great,” Peter stuttered, biting back the instinctive snarl of _don’t call me Boss. _"Thanks, EDITH."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow setting the stage took a few more chapters than I expected it to. Okay I absolutely promise the actual movie will start in the next chapter :)
> 
> Also, I know some parts of this weren't exactly believable, but just bear with me, please. I kind of wanted an explanation that had nothing to do with an omniscient being (though I guess for the purposes of this fic, EDITH is kind of omniscient), so I thought, why not use EDITH? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! For those of you who have been looking forward to the characters' reactions to SM:FFH, don't worry, that's coming up very soon! Me bringing in EDITH doesn't change the premise of this story - this is still very much a "watching the movies" fanfic.


	5. Part I: Peter's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDITH starts playing the footage.
> 
> Or: the characters finally start watching Spider-Man: Far From Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack
> 
> The attack is narrated from an outsider’s perspective, but if you’d like to skip it anyway, it starts from “Tony was immediately silenced…” and ends after “…Peter descended into silence.” I don’t have a lot of experience with panic attacks, so I apologize if there are any inaccuracies. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I obviously do not own any of the transcript of Spider-Man: Far From Home.
> 
> Note: I haven't gotten the chance to proofread this, so apologies for any horrendous mistakes. Feel free to point any errors out! I'll try to go over this chapter again and fix any mistakes as soon as I can :)

_When the footage finally came to life, it was to the view of a lone vehicle driving across the countryside. The scene gradually faded to a shot of a demolished village, showing family homes, hotels and landmarks alike in ruins. Accompanying the vision of destruction, the words “IXTENCO, MEXICO” appeared on the screen, a clear indication of what they were looking at._

“_Jesus_,” Tony whispered, his traitorous mind unwittingly flashing back to Afghanistan, ruined by _his _weapons. He swallowed, a familiar guilt flaring up in his chest before he forcefully pushed it aside. _I need to stop making everything about me, _he told himself firmly. He turned to the kid seated comfortably next to Happy—desperately ignoring the God of Mischief—and asked, “What the hell happened there?”

No one missed the regret that passed by Peter’s faced as he tore his gaze away from the screen to look at Tony. “You’ll see,” he answered cryptically. Tony frowned, but Peter added before he could protest, “I wasn’t there to see it, but I can guess what happened.”

_He sounds… angry, _Tony realized. _With himself?_

Happy rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder, sighing heavily. “It’s over, Peter,” he murmured in as reassuring a voice as Harold “Happy” Hogan, the most no-nonsense person Tony knew, could muster. He squeezed Peter briefly. “Everything turned out fine.”

Peter stiffened, heart stuck in his throat. _It’s not fine, _he wanted to argue. _None of it is fine. People died. Entire cities have been laid to waste. I was framed by the man who ruined my life._

_It’s not fine._

But he swallowed down all of the arguments and nodded instead, allowing himself to lean against Happy briefly, taking comfort in the bigger man’s warm presence. He wasn’t in the mood to fight, not when this was the first chance he's had to see Happy—to see _anyone _from his past life—in _months._

_The car eventually rolled to a stop in the middle of the village, and two familiar figures disembarked._

“What the—? Hill? _Fury_?” Clint blinked in surprise, turning around to look at the two SHIELD members at his side. “Why would you two have business in _Mexico_? This looks like it was done by a hurricane, and SHIELD doesn’t usually check out natural disasters—even when it causes destruction on a scale like this.”

“We know as much as you do, Barton,” Fury reminded him with a roll of his eyes. Clint sighed and looked away, and the annoyance on Fury’s face faded to make way for concern. As much as he hated to admit it, Clint was right: SHIELD wasn’t in the business of visiting areas trampled by natural causes. And it had been a long time since _he, _personally, had been on the field. If he was in Ixtenco, then there was more to this disaster than first appearances betrayed.

_On the screen, Agent Hill unknowingly seconded Clint’s sentiments: “Nick, this was a tragedy, but it’s not why we’re here,” she reminded him stoically. “What, are we fighting the weather now?”_

Pepper choked audibly as she heard Hill’s words, turning to look at their version of Maria Hill in horrified shock. “Agent Hill,” she reprimanded, her voice coming out as a hiss. “That was unnecessarily _harsh_.”

Maria’s jaw tightened in response, still reeling from the sound of her own words from years into the future. She looked appropriately chagrined at Pepper’s condemnation, but nonetheless she didn’t apologize for her future self’s indifference.

Instead, she inhaled sharply, ignoring the horror stirring in her gut, and replied simply, “But it’s the _truth_.” Without waiting to hear whether Pepper would scold her further or realize she was right, Maria turned away and hid a contemplative frown.

How much had she _seen _by the kid’s—Mr. Parker’s—time (2024, was it?), to be so desensitized to the state of Ixtenco as it appeared in the footage? Even now, from the other side of a screen, Maria could see that the village was battered beyond an easy fix; the villagers she spotted onscreen—a woman struggling to carry boxes and books, perhaps the _only_ remnants of her life before whatever happened to ruin Ixtenco, construction workers barely able to hold themselves up, a young man in tattered clothes sitting heavily against a collapsed wall—were all burdened with obvious fatigue and hopelessness.

Ixtenco had fallen, and all her future self had to say about it was: _It’s not why we’re here. _Maria meant what she’d said to Pepper—it _was _the truth—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t unsettling, to see the type of person she would become over a decade into the future.

_Fury shot Hill a pointed look. “Locals say the cyclone had a _face_,” he remarked as they carefully made their way down the street, inspecting the wreckage._

_Hill shook her head. “People see things when they’re under stress,” she reasoned, as if desperate to deny Fury’s implicit suggestion. “That does _not_ mean that this is the start to some other big world-ending—”_

_Before she could even finish her sentence, a green cloud of smoke appeared in front of them as something—someone—imperceptible landed on the ground with a thundering _crash_. Immediately, the two trained agents pulled out their guns, acting on pure instinct, and aimed it at the smoke._

“Gotta say,” Tony remarked, leaning back into the sofa cushions, “the irony of that coincidental timing is _not_ lost on me. It’s almost comedic—or it would be, if it weren’t for the situation.”

“‘Coincidental’,” MJ echoed, fingers forming air quotes. A wry smile curled on her lips as she remembered all of Beck’s lies. He’d woven such an intricate web of deception that, even months after his defeat, they were _still _entangled in his trap. Worst of all, they’d _fallen _for his trap, just as Beck had intended. “Sure.”

“Excuse me?” Tony blinked, eyes narrowing at the girl. “You sound skeptical. Am I missing something?”

MJ snorted. _You can say that again, _she thought to herself. _We were all missing a piece of the puzzle for the longest time. _She opened her mouth to reply, but Peter’s voice cut her off before she could.

“_MJ…_” Peter warned, twisting around to shoot her a meaningful _look. _MJ raised her hands in surrender, falling silent, and the breath whooshed out of Peter in an audible exhale.

Tony frowned, but didn’t push, instead storing MJ’s all-too-telling reaction for later dissection.

Peter turned to look at the screen, struggling to shove down the maelstrom of hurt and anger and _shame _that burned inside him at the sight of Mysterio, and at the subsequent onslaught of memories (of his own _foolishness_) he dredged up. He’d genuinely _trusted _Beck. He’d thought of him as a _friend_, even; a brother-in-arms he could count on to help him fend off the Elementals. And yet all the while, he’d been clueless to Beck’s true machinations, blind to the reality that Beck had orchestrated every single one of the attacks.

(Beck had been a puppeteer, and Peter his puppet. He’d let himself be _played_.)

No, MJ was right. There was nothing _coincidental _about Quentin Beck’s appearance in Ixtenco, so soon after Fury and Hill had arrived based on Fury’s hunch that there was more to the village’s destruction than met the eye. More realistically, Beck was the one who had lured them to Ixtenco—_entirely_ on purpose—in order to initiate his grand plan to manipulate the whole world.

_When the smoke faded, Fury and Hill found themselves face-to-face with a caped figure clad in gold-plated armor and wearing a strange glass bowl over his head. Inside the glass bowl, they could see swirls of misty blue and black, resembling a galaxy._

_The figure straightened, and the bowl vanished from around his head, revealing the face of a haggard-looking man. “Who are you?” the man demanded, panting audibly from exertion._

“Who the hell is _that_?” Hill balked. “Was Fury right? About – about the cyclone? Was it not a natural disaster? And if Fury _was _right, then is this new guy a hero, or... or a villain?”

“He looks familiar,” Tony threw in. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Has he helped Iron Man before?” Bruce suggested, squinting at the caped man. “Maybe you met him during a mission.”

“No, no,” Tony denied, shaking his head. “I can’t place his face, but... I know for a _fact _that I didn’t meet him as Iron Man. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a superhero wearing _that _ridiculous get-up before. It’s... it’s his _face _that’s bugging me.”

He quieted for a moment, chewing his lip in thought as he struggled to remember where he recognized the man from. Eventually, after a tense second, he groaned in annoyance and gave up. “I don’t know,” he huffed. “Maybe he just has one of those faces.”

“No, I think you’re right,” Pepper said suddenly, sitting up and leaning forward to assess the man. “He _does_ look familiar.”

“Well, if you’ve both seen him before, you two probably met him through Stark Industries,” Bruce reasoned. “I’d ask if he was a fellow scientist, but I don’t recognize him from any articles or publications. Maybe he’s an investor?”

“Maybe,” Pepper allowed, but she didn’t look convinced. She drummed her fingers against her thigh and sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s probably not important,” Tony decided. “Let’s just see what happens next. EDITH?”

EDITH complied with a whirr, the footage continuing on. If only Tony or Pepper had bothered to look to Peter for help, they would have noticed his fraught, _tense_ appearance as they debated the identity of the man on the screen. Maybe then Tony wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss it as unimportant.

_Almost immediately, a monstrous creature emerged from the ground behind them, causing Fury and Hill to whirl around, guns still outstretched. The creature—consisting entirely of _rocks_—roared, standing taller than its surrounding buildings, and the two agents began firing. _

_The stranger shook his head. “You don’t want any part of this,” he said, stepping forward and swinging his arms out in front of him. What appeared to be wispy green blasts began shooting from his hands. Seconds later, the scene faded to black._

“What _was _that?” Scott wrinkled his nose, captivated by the stranger’s powers. “I’d say it looks like gas, but... the explosive force behind it—”

“_Fascinating_,” Shuri breathed. “Going by his words, I’d say he’s had a run-in with the rock monster before. That probably means that his blasts aren’t made up of gas, if he thinks he can go up against _rock_. I wonder if I could replicate the effects using technology.” Her fingers twitched subconsciously as her imagination ran wild. If only she could access her lab.

God, she was _itching _to tinker around in the lab right about now.

Halfway across the room, Peter snickered privately to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Happy prodded, confused, not having caught Shuri’s murmured words.

“Oh, nothing,” Peter replied, and it wasn’t necessarily a lie—he didn’t find Shuri’s words _funny, _not really, but it was ironic if nothing else. _Replicate the effects using technology? Well, considering Beck is using technology in the first place, you could definitely make it better._

_The words “in memoriam”, printed in what appeared to be a childish Comic Sans font, flashed onto the black screen as the song ‘I Will Always Love You’ by Whitney Houston began to play in the background._

“Oh, _shit_,” Peter breathed when he realized what he was looking at, loud enough that those closest to him could hear. His earlier amusement died in a flash as his gut _churned _in his stomach and his hands grew clammy with sweat. He wiped his hands on his pants, but it didn’t help when the crux of the matter remained unchanged: he hadn’t realized they’d all find out what had happened—_who they had lost_—so soon.

_Goddamnit, _he cursed, and encountered a brief moment where he heard Steve Grant Rogers’ voice in his head, trying to instill some responsibility in him. _“Watch your language, son,” _the soldier’s voice rang through his mind, as serious as ever. Peter hadn’t seen any of the Avengers since the Daily Bugle’s scathing exposé put a bounty on his head, but he could still remember the look in Steve’s eyes as he’d stared Peter down: there had been a certain enlightened quality, a certain _wisdom_, to his gaze. Peter didn’t think he’d forget the feeling of being lectured by (former) Captain America any time soon. _“There are people who look up to us—to Spider-Man.”_

At the time, Peter had reacted with explosive fury. He’d shoved Steve away, relishing in a temporary glory as the man stumbled under the force of it, and snarled, _Not your goddamn son. _He’d spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, the phantom sound of Tony Stark’s rich laughter ringing in his ears.

He hadn’t looked back.

(What if he _had_ looked back? What if he’d apologized?

What if he’d _listened _to Steve? Not to Steve's advice about censoring his language, no, but – to his warning that Peter possessed a great deal of influence over the general masses.

_“There are people who look up to us—to Spider-Man.”_

Peter laughed, cutting and poisonous. Well. Those days were long over. No one looked up to Spider-Man now.)

Peter shook his head. _Not the time. This isn’t about me, _he reminded himself, returning his gaze to the screen. _This song. This stupid song. _Except it wasn’t stupid, and he struggled to keep his eyes from watering as they drank in the title once more.

_In memoriam._

He gulped audibly. “God,” he whispered, hands clenching into fists around the fabric of his pants. His elbows dug into the meat of his thighs and he leaned his weight forward, back hunching as if to try to hide himself. “_God. _How could I have forgotten about this _stupid_ video?”

Happy turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. Before he could ask what was wrong, the image on the screen changed, and Happy immediately understood.

Oh. _Oh._

_Because it was the face of Tony Stark that graced the screen now, a pair of his signature tinted sunglasses mounting his face. Stark’s head was tilted slightly, his lips unsmiling as he stared down whichever paparazzi had managed to track him down; he looked completely indifferent to the shock that rippled through the audience at the mere _implications_ of Tony’s photograph following the opening frame entitled “in memoriam."_

“What the fuck. _What the fuck,_” Pepper choked out, losing all sense of elegance and composure as she lurched forward in her seat. Beside her, Rhodey sat up in alarm, while Tony tensed. “What – what is this?” she stammered in denial, refusing to accept it at face-value. “This – this has to be a _joke_—”

“Pep,” Tony murmured in a low, quiet voice, resting one hand on her knee.

Pepper jerked away as if _burned. _Tony froze, his hand hovering uselessly above her. He’d forgotten, for a second, that this wasn’t _his_ Pepper; caught up in the moment, all he’d been able to think of when he saw Pepper begin to devolve into hysterics was _comfort her comfort her comfort her_.

But, he reminded himself, this Pepper Potts was _beyond _him. Did she even _want_ comfort from him?

“_No. _There’s _no way,_” Pepper managed to say, struggling to _breathe _in the midst of her growing panic. _No no no —_

“Pepper,” Rhodey whispered, voice likewise _drenched _in fear. He didn’t even know what had happened in Peter’s timeline yet—what _could _happen in his own—but… there was no misconstruing the meaning of _in memoriam. _Those words felt heavy as they reverberated in the hollows of his mind, laden with meaning and significance.

He snuck a glance at the group of travelers from 2024 (plus the addition of Loki) and _grimaced _at what he found. Peter had huddled closer to Happy, burying his head in Happy’s shoulder while Happy murmured indistinct reassurances in his ear. Rhodey couldn’t see Peter’s face, but he _could _see Happy’s, and, well—there was no mistaking the pure, unadulterated grief that was etched across his friend’s face.

Rhodey felt sick to his stomach.

Pepper looked like she felt just as nauseous. “God, _no,_” she moaned, resisting the urge to retch. “Rhodey,”—she turned to him in a panic, her eyes blown wide with distress—“please tell me I’m misunderstanding this. I can’t – I _can’t _lose him. I mean, even being without him while he was in space...” she trailed off, expression haunted with the memory of the _uncertainty _that had plagued her. She’d felt like she was in limbo, waiting for the axe to fall. “I can’t go through that again. Not forever.”

Rhodey swallowed down his own dread. _I can panic later, _he told himself. _It can wait. It can wait. _For now, he had to console Pepper; he had to be strong for her. “It’s – it’s gonna be okay, Pepper,” he soothed, even though a large part of him didn’t believe it. He thought back to Peter’s and Happy’s words—he remembered his indignation at Peter’s indication that they didn’t want to know how the Avengers from his timeline had reversed the Blip. _He’s insane, _he’d thought then. _Why the fuck wouldn’t we want to know?_

Now, though… _now_, he understood.

But he also remembered everything else Peter said. He remembered the desperation in Peter’s eyes when he‘d implored, “Maybe if you knew ahead of time—maybe if you knew everything we do—you’ll be able to reverse the Blip _without_ paying that price.” And he remembered the _determination _in Happy’s voice, strong and steadfast enough to light up a flare of hope amidst the darkness of Rhodey’s misgivings: “It isn’t too late for you guys. There might still be another way to save your world—without the sacrifices of ours.”

Rhodey forced himself to calm down, a shaky exhale passing his lips. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated to Pepper, and the words came out steadier now, and with more conviction. “Happy and Peter said we can fix it, remember? It’s not going to turn out like this for us.” _It can’t – it just can’t. _“I won’t _let_ it, okay?” he added, gruffly, voice rough and scratchy with half-terror from the magnitude of Tony’s uncertain fate, half-resolve from the need to watch his best friend live and thrive and grow old.

Pepper looked at him, eyes red-rimmed. It was the mark of tears, in the end, that expunged his terror and solidified his resolve. Because here was Pepper Potts, the most _influential _woman of their time—a woman who rarely allowed herself to look even a little bit out of place. But Pepper didn’t care about her reputation now; she wasn’t speaking as the CEO of Stark Industries, but as the partner of Tony Stark, when she clutched Rhodey’s hands in her own and begged, “Promise me. _Promise me _you’ll keep him safe.”

Rhodey smiled tremulously at her. “I _promise_,” he whispered, and he hoped to god that he wouldn’t have to break this promise.

Meanwhile, Tony watched their interaction with more than a little wonder, feeling almost as if he was intruding. He felt... _out of place_. No matter how much he wished he could reassure them, he knew he couldn’t, because he wasn’t _their _Tony. They weren’t _his _Pepper and Rhodey.

This version of Pepper and Rhodey—they felt untouchable to him. Unreachable. Whatever had happened between 2012 and 2018, it had changed them in irreversible ways. And he had no idea how to react to it.

“Tony,” Bruce whispered from beside him, drawing Tony’s attention to him. “Are you okay?” Tony blinked, and Bruce rushed to correct himself, “Sorry, that was a stupid question. I mean, we just found out you’re going to…” he faltered and trailed off, unable to make himself say it.

Tony mustered a smile at his new acquaintance—_friend_? Could he go so far as to call Banner a friend, now? “I’m fine,” he lied. As always, the lie came easy—_natural_—to him. If there was one thing that would never change, it was that Tony Stark could drop one persona and put on another within the space of a heartbeat. “It’s not like I was under any delusions about the mortality rate of people in my line of work. I came to terms with the risks that come with being Iron Man long before I first stepped into the suit.”

Bruce nodded, biting his lip. He appeared skeptical, eyebrows furrowed slightly in unspoken curiosity, but he didn’t push.

Tony looked away, back to the screen, where the documentary had paused on his image—likely courtesy of EDITH, who was evidently able to read the room. Despite what he’d said to Bruce, Tony found himself growing uncomfortable the more he stared at his own picture. He hadn’t been lying—he _did _know the risks of being a superhero—but it still terrified him, a little, to realize his impending doom. To know that his expiration date had _already_ been determined.

He glanced at the sofa situated to his right out of the corner of his eye, his heart stuttering when he saw the broken look on Happy’s face. It was a stark contrast to the usual expressions that adorned Happy’s face on a daily basis—the Happy he remembered only ever rotated between _annoyance _and _anger_. Happy, too, had clearly changed in the years that stretched out between them, and Tony had a feeling he knew exactly what—or rather, _who_—had sparked the change.

He swallowed and turned his focus to Peter, who had pulled his knees up to his chest and was now staring up at the screen in a daze. There was something _lost _about the look in his eyes that made Tony’s heart twinge with sorrow. _Well, that explains his earlier reaction to my presence, _he thought dryly to himself, fighting to distract himself from the unsettling _compassion _that threatened to burst forth whenever he let himself dwell on Peter Parker. _I’m literally a ghost from his past._

He sniffed and tore his eyes away before he could get emotional. He adamantly skipped over Loki, trying to ignore the stab of fear that invaded him as he remembered the feeling of tumbling rapidly through the air without protection, and zeroed in on the other two teenagers. The boy, Ned, was chewing nervously on his lip as he sent Peter a worried look every two seconds. MJ, on the other hand, kept her eyes on the screen, stare unwavering. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the expression strained at the corners.

Tony shook his head. He bit back the desire to ask what had happened—_how did I die_—and instead resettled in his seat, trying to ignore the feeling of Pepper's and Rhodey’s tear-stained gazes now boring into him, as if in an attempt to reassure themselves that he was real.

“EDITH,” he coughed, feeling uneasy, “please continue.” For a second, he worried she wouldn’t answer to him—Happy had mentioned that his future self had given EDITH to Peter, after all—but he sighed in relief when the video dutifully started playing again.

_It seemed the surprises in store for them weren’t over, because Tony’s picture promptly transitioned into one of Captain America, looking regal and dignified—solemn—in his signature suit._

“Oh, _hell no,_” Bucky was the first to react to the newest blow. His metal fingers twitched violently on his lap as he spared 2012 Steve a backwards glance. He shook his head resolutely. “No. Nope. I refuse to believe it. I’ve lost Steve once already.”

“God,” Sam whispered, _aching_. Steve looked the same as always in his picture; he looked confident, heroic, _strong._ He looked like every single poster of Captain America hanging from the walls of Sam’s childhood bedroom. Even after Sam had met and gotten to know Steve personally, a part of Sam had continued to see and idolize Steve as the all-powerful, unbeatable hero, he realized with a start. It was a harsh, jarring wake-up call to think that Captain America would one day die—and soon, in a matter of mere _years_, not in some far-off reality that Sam could pretend wasn’t real. “Steve, too? How many… how many people do we _lose_?”

“Uh, actually,” Peter jumped in, and they all whirled around to find Peter scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Steve isn’t – he isn’t dead. He… wasn’t one of the casualties,” he finished, his voice going soft and _miserable _at the end, eyes traitorously darting to Tony.

Bucky froze. A sigh of relief hovered in his ribcage, desperate to be released, but he restrained himself. Peter might have denied Steve’s death, but he hadn’t said anything about Stark, and that silence in itself was all too telling. He might not know Stark—_not as a friend, anyway,_ he thought guiltily, unwittingly flashing back to cold snow and Siberian bunkers and Tony Stark lying conquered on the ground—but he didn’t wish Stark ill.

“Wait, I – I’m not?” Steve blinked. “I don’t understand. It said _in memoriam… _and Tony—”

“You haven’t been seen in the public eye since the final battle,” Peter cut in, looking down at his feet. “That’s why...” he shook his head, waving his hand vaguely in the screen’s general direction as if to say _that’s why they think you’re dead. _“It’s hard to explain. Things happened, and—” a strangled sound of frustration escaped him as he gesticulated uselessly, one hand reaching up to tug at his hair. “_Things happened,_” he repeated himself, “but you aren’t gone. Not like that.”

“Then why wouldn’t I go out in the public?” Steve pressed, frowning. “I’m Captain America, aren’t I? I’m an _Avenger. _Why would I stay hidden if— what if something goes wrong?”

“Something definitely goes wrong,” MJ said, mirthless, at the same time as Peter clarified, “You changed. Physically, I mean. You aren’t exactly in the shape to go out as a hero anymore. You’re still alive, though.”

Steve fell silent. What did that _mean_? What could possibly keep him from fighting—from going out there and helping people? What had _happened _to him, if not death? Peter’s vague explanation had only served to give him more questions than answers, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of Peter.

Without a word, EDITH pressed _play_.

_Following Captain America, a picture of Natasha Romanoff came onto the screen. Unlike both Tony’s and Steve’s pictures, hers seemed to have been taken from the front page of a news article, evident from the fact that the chosen photograph was badly cropped. Even in the picture, Natasha seemed untouchable, face impassive and unsmiling._

“Shit,” Clint inhaled sharply. “_Shit._”

“Clint.” Natasha laid a hand on his arm.

Clint whirled around, shaking his head rapidly. “Don’t say my name like that,” he hissed. Natasha arched an eyebrow, question unasked, but he answered nonetheless, “Like – like you’ve accepted it! _I_ don’t!”

Natasha sighed, and he jabbed a finger at her. “That! That right there tells me you’re going to just _take it. _Well, I’m telling you _no. _The kid – the kid was right. If this is the price we have to pay, it’s _way_ too high. There’s no way I’m going to just stand back and let you give your _life_—”

“Half of all life, Clint. They said _half of all living creatures in the universe die,_” she interrupted his rant, her voice hard and unyielding, punching through the haze of despair clouding his mind. “That’s _trillions _throughout the universe. _Trillions_! Men, women, _innocent children_.” _Think of _your_ children, Clint, _her eyes conveyed where her words didn't, and he recoiled as if struck. “If I have to die to bring back trillions… I’d be _honored _to give my life for such a cause.”

“But why does it have to be _you_—”

“We’re _Avengers, _Clint,” she reminded harshly, but her face held no anger. She gave him a rueful smile. “If not me, then who? _This_ is why we fight.”

Clint glared at her, blinking back tears, but he couldn’t find the words to refute her. Deep down, as much as he hated it, he _knew_ she was right.

Half of all life. _Shit._

“It’s okay,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. He barely reacted, feeling numb and chilled all over, and she tightened her grip. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Clint sniffled and looked away.

Peter watched Clint and Natasha’s interaction with silent regret, and he couldn’t help but think of how _tragic _it all was. Natasha was so determined to fight for their cause—she hadn’t even batted an eye at the news of her own death. She was _willing_ to die, even, if it meant trillions more could live.

It was especially tragic, Peter reflected, because he _knew_ how her story ended. He _knew_ that Natasha Romanoff had sacrificed herself to make sure the soul stone fell into the Avengers’ hands, to make sure the Avengers could _save_ everyone else in her absence.

And the Avengers had.

Peter would still be _dead_ if not for what Natasha had done, and yet her sacrifice was not nearly as widely-recognized as Tony’s.

_It’s unspeakably tragic, _he mused again, his heart drumming to the beat of it — _tragic tragic tragic. _His eyes fell to his lap, unable to bear the sight of Natasha Romanoff, heroic and resolute behind closed doors, any longer. _She’s gone, and no one cares. She’s gone, and she isn’t even thanked for it. __She died for a world that refuses to acknowledge her._

From the other sofa, in an attempt to lighten the somber mood, Tony commented, “It’s kind of sad that whoever made this video was only able to find a picture of you from the news.” He heard his own words settle in his mind and cringed, wondering if he was only making it worse. _What a way to ‘lighten’ the atmosphere, Tony, geez, _he applauded himself self-deprecatingly.

(Whoever said Tony had impeccable social skills had clearly never interacted with him for longer than ten minutes.)

But Natasha didn’t seem bothered by his ungraceful subject change, merely rolling her eyes and shooting Tony a mysterious smile. “You think it’s sad; _I_ think it’s a _good_ thing. If that’s the only picture of me there is out there, then that means I’m doing my job right,” she countered.

Tony huffed a laugh. “Right.”

_A picture of Vision was up next. Despite the terrible blurry quality, his features were unmistakable—the red skin was a dead giveaway. (Emphasis on _dead_.)_

Vision seemed unfazed at the revelation of his upcoming death. His companions, however, were not quite so unfazed.

Wanda, especially, appeared to be hit the hardest by the news. She clenched her fists tightly, an anguished mewl ripping straight from her chest. Around her, the air shimmered a vibrant _scarlet, _rippling outwards in visible waves. Her hair rose slightly, lifted by an invisible force.

Sam was the first to notice the change in Wanda when he nearly toppled over, feeling a pressure in the air push against him. “What the – oh, shit, _Wanda_!” Sam’s panic was magnified tenfold when he saw that her eyes had flashed a violent crimson in her trance. “Oh, crap. Oh crap oh crap _oh crap._ What the hell do I _do_?” he demanded Bucky.

Bucky looked just as helpless, staring on in trepidation. During their time on the run, he and Sam had become all too aware of the chaos Wanda tended to wreak whenever she lost control. And right now, she definitely seemed to be out of control. “I don’t _know_,” he answered honestly. Usually, in the event that Wanda lost her grip on her tenuous restraint, it was Steve or Natasha who eased her back to awareness. Steve had always been the most empathetic of the three men, and as for Natasha, well, she’d regularly radiated maternal concern when it came to Wanda—despite her intimidating exterior. Wanda had gravitated towards Natasha naturally, with the two banding together due to their shared gender and mutual understanding of female entrapment under the patriarchy.

Sam groaned. “You’re _useless,_” he told Bucky matter-of-factly.

Bucky shrugged. “You can harp on me later,” was his only response. He knew not to take offense to Sam’s cutting insults by now. “Right now, we have to help Wanda.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grunted. He hovered an uncertain hand above her shoulder, not sure if she would appreciate touch right now. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate the situation and provoke a violent reaction from Wanda. “Wanda?” he asked, keeping his voice mild and kind. “‘You with me?”

Wanda’s eyes flashed a darker red.

Sam gritted his teeth. “‘Guess that’s a no,” he mumbled to himself. “Awesome. Okay, _now _what am I supposed to—”

“Wanda.” Vision’s voice was even and self-assured as he stepped in, relieving Sam of his duty. The android floated calmly in front of Wanda, looking unflappable even in the face of Wanda’s thrashing powers. “_Wanda._”

His voice, thankfully, managed to pierce through the haze of Wanda’s mind. She came back to reality with a strangled gasp, her eyes flickering rapidly before finally returning to their normal color. “V-Vis?” she stuttered, voice wrecked. “You…”

“I’m here,” he said simply. He waited a beat, just long enough to make sure she was fine, and then nodded stiffly and returned to his original spot beside T’Challa.

Wanda watched him go, her racing heart gradually beginning to slow down as the air around her finally lost its scarlet shimmer. _I messed up, _she admitted to herself, realizing how much she’d _hurt _him when she’d used her powers against him. _I need to… I need to apologize. _

She snuck the TV a glance, noticing that the screen was still frozen on Vision’s image. She suppressed a flinch at the sight of it, but couldn’t find the voice to ask EDITH to keep going.

She swallowed, thinking of her own Vision, alive but still _lost _to her. It only reaffirmed her resolve. _I’m going to make things right with him, _she told herself firmly, her eyes prickling with tears. _Before it’s too late._

Peter, watching as Wanda’s eyes spilled over with tears, the _red red red _fading, struggled to _breathe. _It felt like his ribcage was trying to _squeeze_ the air out of his lungs. It had felt like that for months—it hurt, he thought, to go on about his life as if it had never been touched by Tony and Natasha and Vision. It hurt to breathe without them.

He hadn’t been _particularly _close with either Natasha or Vision, but he _missed _them nonetheless, with a fervent and intransigent intensity.

Natasha had been private and secretive in life, rarely inclined to talk about herself, but she’d always been willing to _listen. _She’d protected him fiercely and cared about him just as fiercely.

Vision had always treated him with the utmost respect and consideration. Even though most would argue that he didn’t possess true sentience or human empathy, he’d demonstrated more kindness than most _people_ Peter knew. He’d been thoughtful and patient, unfailingly willing to lend Peter a hand even if Peter’s problems oftentimes confused him. He didn’t necessarily always _get it—_Peter’s uncontrollable emotions—but he’d earnestly _tried _to_, _and that meant the world to Peter.

Tony’s loss was unshakable, one Peter doubted he would ever fully recover from. He noticed Tony’s absence constantly, like a gaping hole in his heart, a missing limb he didn’t quite feel _solid _and _whole _without. He missed Tony all the time—it was a grief that stuck with him, always, even when he was happy.

_Next came another image of Tony, standing in front of an assortment of jets._

The image was clearly a throwback to the days when Stark Industries was one of the largest weapons manufacturers in the world, and in the audience, Tony winced visibly at the reminder.

He wasn’t the only one to react poorly to the symbolism of the picture: Wanda flinched and curled in on herself slightly, flashing back to her past, littered with explosions that seemed to always be accompanied by the name _Stark._

She growled under her breath, digging her fingers into her thighs. _Stark. Merchant of Death. _She closed her eyes—_the keening wail of a baby, the weeping sobs of his mother, the quavering pleas of his father—_and shuddered violently. _Murderer._

Wanda gasped, her eyes yawning open, when a tingling pain prickled at her legs. Her gaze fell down to her lap, catching on the rivulets of blood that trickled down the side of her thighs. And at the heart of it all: her nails, buried in her flesh, as feathery tendrils of vermilion light danced across the patch of skin where her fingertips met her thighs.

Wanda sucked in a hissing breath, uncurling her fingers and splaying them flat across her thighs. The pain eased, but the red never faded.

_How many babies have cried because of Stark’s weapons? How many boys, girls, men and women?_

The vermilion _flared _outwards, stretching across her skin and consuming her fingers in a deep, vivid shade.

_Merchant of Death._

_Murdere—_

But before Wanda could succumb to her own powers again, her sphere of telepathy unintentionally expanded and caught snatches of Tony’s thoughts, laced with utter derision, in its web: _I’m never going to be able to escape my past, am I? No matter what I do, it won’t erase the blood on my hands._

Wanda stilled.

She was _all too familiar_ with the hint of self-loathing in Tony’s inner voice, and for a second, she found herself sympathizing with him. It was only for a second before she caught herself, but she couldn’t deny that she’d felt it.

Stark’s _weapons _had wrought death and destruction. His _weapons_ had delivered her parents to death’s door.

But not him.

It was a tiny, but consequential, distinction.

Tony Stark had never been to blame for her parents’ deaths.

Wanda inhaled, _exhaled, _and turned away, burying her power deep inside herself. _It’s in the past, Wanda, _she told herself. (A baby’s cry. A mother’s scream. A father’s prayer.) _All in the past. He didn’t know._

_He didn’t._

_The picture was, much to the audience’s relief, the last that depicted a supposedly fallen superhero. Tony’s profile faded away to a clip of birds flying across the sky, and then, finally, to an image of candles stolen from the internet—the watermark “Getty Images” clearly visible._

“Getty Images, _really_?” Tony scrunched up his nose. “Whoever made this video _really _deserves an A+ for effort,” he added sarcastically.

Pepper exhaled heavily through her nose, her eyes already rolling to the back of her head before she had even fully processed Tony’s words. She knew to brace herself for his _particular_ brand of Stark humor whenever _that _tone of voice emerged. _God, only Tony, _she thought, exasperated but infinitely _fond. _Without her consent, a doting smile crept up her lips. _Only he could find it in himself to joke at a time like this._

But despite her annoyance, she couldn’t quite bring herself to scold him—because as loath as she was to admit it, she found herself feeling _grateful _for his snark, and the reprieve it gave her from thoughts of his death.

_He’s not dead yet, _she reminded herself firmly, picking up the pieces of her heart and rebuilding herself layer by layer. The Avengers didn’t need a grieving would-be widow, not right now. (There was nothing to grieve yet.) _He’s still alive._

_And if we play our cards right, he won’t have to die at all._

_The video tribute minimized to show Midtown High’s news program, with two students seated behind a desk. One of the students, a girl with pin-straight blonde hair tucked into a headband, immediately jumped in to fill the silence: “Gone, _but not forgotten,_” she narrated in a grave voice._

_The student next to her, a boy with curly hair, broke the serious mood as he finger-gunned the viewers and chimed in, sounding much more upbeat, “Thanks to Kenneth Lim and Vihaan Ramamurthy for their help with that _touching_”—he thumped himself on the chest as if to emphasize how moved he was, though the gesture only elicited a humorous vibe—“video tribute.”_

“_Touching_,” Tony snorted. “Not exactly how I would describe it, but sure. Let’s go with ‘touching’.”

“Well I, for one, was _very_ touched,” Natasha drawled, lips slipping into a smirk. “Honored, really.”

“Give them a break, Nat,” Clint snorted, but the playfulness in his voice sounded forced. “They’re _kids_. They probably chipped in, what, thirty minutes of their time to put it together.”

“And yet it’s still better than anything _you_ could ever hope to make,” Natasha gibed. “We all know how well _you_ do with technology.”

Clint’s jaw unhinged. “Nat!” he yelped, clutching at his chest dramatically. “The _betrayal, _honestly. You wound me, Nat.”

“Both of you, _stop it,_” Fury snapped, giving them both a warning glare. It was the same glare they’d received hundreds of times before—usually because of something stupid Clint did, but occasionally because of something reckless _Natasha_ did, too. “This is _hardly _the time, don’t you think?”

Clint quietened, his cheer draining out of him immediately. “You’re – you’re right,” he conceded, choked by shame. “Sorry.”

Natasha noticed the subdued look on Clint’s face and glowered at Fury, frustrated by his interruption. _Shut up, _she wanted to lash out. _Let him have this. Let him have a moment of laughter._

But she’d never said anything to protest against Fury before, so she didn’t say anything now.

(Besides, it was too late. The damage had already been done, and the moment was over.)

_The logo of the two students’ high school popped up on the bottom of the screen, with the words Midtown Technical High School looping around it. On either side of the logo, the students’ names appeared beneath their profiles—JASON IONELLO for the boy, and BETTY BRANT for the girl._

“_Midtown_,” Rhodey whispered with a start, realization dawning on him. “Peter, that’s your school, isn’t it?” he addressed Peter, but despite his phrasing, the words came out as a fact, not a question. The first time Tony had introduced the kid to Rhodey, it had been with a delighted grin and an unquenchable pride. _He’s a genius, Rhodes, _Tony had jumped at the chance to boast about Peter’s accomplishments, _he goes to school at Midtown High—a prestigious STEM school—and he’s at the top of his class. He’s the future, platypus, and I can’t wait to see what he’ll achieve._

(Rhodey would never forget the way Tony had sounded when he'd talked about Peter that day, or the way Tony had _looked_ at the kid—with _endless_ joy and satisfaction. Everything Peter did seemed to drive Tony closer and closer towards true peace and contentment.)

Peter confirmed Rhodey’s thoughts with a nod and a grimace. “Yeah,” he affirmed. “Midtown High. _Joy_.”

His friend, Ned, barked with laughter, loud and high-pitched enough that half the room turned to stare. The girl—MJ—just rolled her eyes at the two of them and muttered a warm _god, you dorks _under her breath, more than used to their behavior.

Pepper rolled her eyes as well, though her exasperation was directed at Rhodey. “What did you expect, Rhodey?” she snorted. “EDITH told us from the very beginning that this is about Peter, remember?” But despite aiming for a mocking tone, Pepper’s voice instead came out soft and strained, _weaker _than intended; as hard as she’d tried, she still hadn’t fully recomposed herself after finding out that her fiancé was doomed to die.

(Then again, she asked herself, how _was _one supposed to react to a revelation like that?

She wished she didn’t have to know.)

_“This year has been nothing short of—”_

_“—this shit is crazy,” Jason interrupted Betty before she could finish, though his curse was conveniently censored by a beep. He shook his head in incredulity. “It’s, like, insane.”_

_Betty turned to Jason, visibly annoyed by his interruption. “_Jason_,” she snapped. “No swearing.”_

_Jason paused for a second as if to consider it, before reasoning, “Nah, it’s like the last day of school. We’re good.”_

Bucky couldn’t help the deep, rumbling laugh that emerged from his chest at the distinct contrast between Betty’s seriousness and Jason’s easy-going, laidback demeanor. “They make for a funny news segment,” he remarked, grinning. “Their attitudes do not match in the least.”

“The girl looks like she’d strangle her classmate if it wasn’t illegal,” Sam added. “I’d watch my back if I were him.”

“They’re a little like the two of you,” Scott commented. He would have had to be blind to miss the explosive dynamics Sam and Bucky shared. If it weren’t for the situation they were currently in, he had no doubt they’d be at each other’s throats. “Except, you know, you’re both the boy in this scenario.”

“_Wha_— I can be serious!” Sam protested. “I’m not like _Bucky_.” His nose scrunched up like he’d smelled something sour. “I don’t always make a joke out of _everything_.”

“Oh, _please,_” Bucky snorted. “Who are you trying to kid? You emulate the boy’s ‘reckless fool’ vibe better than I do.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Like _hell _I do,” he snapped, face settling into an indignant glower. “You better _check yourself, _Barnes. Remember when I said I’d watch my back if I were the kid? Yeah, that goes for you, too. I’m not afraid to throw hands.”

Bucky’s eyebrows skipped high up his forehead. “Well, you _should _be afraid,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m the one with the enhanced strength, remember?”

Sam fumed. “Shut up,” he told Bucky. “I swear to god, I will snap your neck in your sleep.”

“I don’t sleep,” Bucky replied without batting an eye.

Sam just _groaned. _“I hate you,” he groused, _mostly_ sure Bucky was just joking.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky flapped his hand in a dismissive wave, already turning around as if to signify _this conversation is over. _Without giving Sam the space to retort, he added smugly, “Keep telling yourself that, Wilson. I can tell I’m growing on you.”

Sam grumbled in exasperation.

Scott blew a breath out through his nose, quietly amused. _Definitely at each other’s throats._

_Betty just shook her head, deciding to ignore Jason as she turned to the camera again, concluding her previous statement as if he’d never cut in: “—_Historic_. Over five years ago, half of all life in the universe, including our own Midtown High, was wiped from existence.”_

_As she spoke, a video clip of Midtown High’s gymnasium overlaid her image on the screen. Random members of both the marching band on the court, and the supporters on the bleachers, began to crumble—_literally_. In a matter of seconds—no, _split_-seconds—approximately half of the people in the gym turned into nothing more than specks of dust in the air._

“Fuck,” Tony whispered in horror. He wasn’t the only one in the room swearing. “How is that – how is that even _possible_?” It was one thing to hear Peter’s story of what would happen; it was another thing _entirely _to actually _see it happen._

(Seeing was believing, after all, as some would say.)

It was, without a doubt, the worst thing Tony had ever seen. The worst thing _any _of them had ever seen.

In a fit of desperation, he swiveled around and pinpointed Peter on his sofa, a thousand different questions already beginning to brew at the tip of his tongue. Tony was immediately silenced, however, when he found Peter trembling beside Happy, his eyes squeezed shut.

Happy had slid off his seat and was kneeling in front of Peter, one hand resting lightly on Peter’s knee as if to ground him to the present. “Peter… hey… it’s just me… shh… it’s gonna be okay,” Happy’s voice murmured quietly, drifting over to Tony in snippets. “You’re okay… we’re all okay…”

Peter shuddered violently, a sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead. “_No—_” he gasped, the plea snatched straight out of his chest. “_Please,_” he whimpered, “_I don’t want to go_—”

“Shit,” Happy exhaled, and that was definitely _panic _Tony could see painted across his face. “Okay. Okay. It’s okay, Peter. I’m right here. _Breathe _for me, okay? I need you to breathe, Pete—”

“_I don’t want to—_”

“You’re not going anywhere, Peter,” Happy soothed. “I won’t let you go anywhere, okay? I promise. You’re staying right here with us.”

“Mr. Happy,” Peter’s friend, Ned, spoke up, his voice quivering with real fear. “Is he – is he gonna be okay?”

Happy cast Ned a sideways glance. “He’ll be fine,” he said in a hurry, before returning to his attempts to placate Peter. “_Peter, breathe for me. I need you to breathe for me, buddy. In, out… in, out…_ Shit, I don’t know what to do,” he fretted, turning back to Ned. “He hasn’t had an attack in ages. Or, well—I guess I haven’t even _seen_ him in person in ages, _shit_—”

_An attack, _Happy had said, the words carrying with them an earth-shattering weight. _An attack._

_Oh, god. _Peter was in the throes of _a panic attack_, Tony realized with breathless horror. Seeing people Blip away was _terrifying _even for _him_, but for Peter who’d had to _live through it_?

_Fuck. This isn’t just some faraway nightmare for Peter. It’s his reality. _It sounded impossible, _unimaginable, _but Tony knew it was true. _This _was Peter’s life. He’d _gone through this—_

He’d gone through it.

It made it uncomfortably, _unsettlingly _real for Tony. The threat of Thanos was tangible and all-too-inevitable, and Peter had _faced _it. He’d faced _Thanos, _and he knew, _intimately, _what it felt like to die at the hands of the Mad Titan.

_God, I can’t even imagine_—

(He didn’t want to imagine. Didn’t want to think about Thanos and all that entailed, but –

But.

Tony looked back at Peter, shivering and gasping, and _understood_. He understood distress, he understood pain and suffering. He understood _trauma._

He understood what it felt like to be lost and trapped in your own mind, to feel like you were imploding from the inside out, to feel like you were drowning and _suffocating_, to feel like the walls were closing in on you and no amount of air would be enough take you from one second to the next—

Tony understood. All too well.)

“_Please_—” the broken plea was wrenched from Peter’s lips again, and Tony’s heart wavered and _shattered_. Peter was taking in large, gulping gasps of air, as if the cavity in his lungs simply _refused _to work, collapsing in on itself and restricting his airways, _crushing _his windpipe in a vice grip. “I don’t – I don’t want to _go_—”

“Shit shit _shit,_” Happy hissed. “Peter, hey—_Peter. _Just focus on my voice, okay? Come back to me, kid. I’m right here. I’m _right here._”

“_We’re _right here,” MJ added, joining Happy on the floor. Ned didn’t hesitate to follow suit, kneeling beside the other two. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re not disappearing.”

“You’re not on Titan anymore, Peter,” Ned contributed, and for once, there was no trace of childish joy or lively enthusiasm in his voice. Gone was the excited, animated kid who’d rambled himself out of breath when he’d tried to introduce himself to them. Now, kneeling in front of his best friend, Ned’s voice was nothing more than a reassuring murmur, warm and gentle. “You’re not. I promise. You’re safe.”

“I don’t... I—”

“You’re safe,” Ned repeated, his voice hitching and flickering, but refusing to break. This was a boy who was unreservedly _determined _to be there for his best friend, Tony realized. “_You’re safe._”

Peter lurched forward and _heaved, _nearly collapsing onto the floor. “_I’m sorry,_” he keened. “I’m sorry I’m sorry _I’m sorry—_”

Happy caught him before he could fall, carefully settling Peter down against the foot of the sofa.

“It’s over,” MJ whispered, taking over. “He’s gone, Peter. _He’s gone. _He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

_You’re safe._

_You’re safe._

_You’re safe._

Peter’s friends repeated the sentiment over and over again until finally Peter’s tremors stopped and his strangled cries tapered off. “N-Ned?” he whispered. “MJ?” He exhaled unsteadily, still looking so, so fragile. Vulnerable. “Happy?”

“We’re right here, Pete,” Happy reassured, shuffling closer. (And what a sight that was, Tony mused, looking at his friend. Happy didn’t look even _a little_ disgusted to be kneeling on the floor.) “We’re right here. Can you open your eyes for us, bud?”

Peter did, his eyelids fluttering open painstakingly slowly, as if he was terrified he would find himself trapped again in the recurring nightmare that was Thanos. “Happy?” Peter pleaded again, frantic for confirmation, and Happy swore he felt his heart break.

If desperation could speak, Happy imagined it would sound a little like that.

(He hadn’t heard Peter sound that scared, that _distrusting, _since he’d landed in a tulip field in the Netherlands and found Peter bruised and bloodied and _broken_ in front of him, shouting at him to _stay back _and _tell me something only you know_.)

“Yeah, kid, it’s me,” Happy answered, keeping his voice as light and reassuring as he could. “It’s me.”

A shaky breath of relief shook Peter. “Oh, god,” he moaned. “_Happy_. I couldn’t – I couldn’t… I couldn’t _breathe. _It felt like I was back _there_ again. With _Thanos._”

_Thanos. _It was all he needed to say.

“You’re okay, Pete,” Happy whispered, putting on a brave smile like it didn’t kill him to watch Peter fall apart. “He’s gone. Thanos is gone.”

Peter descended into silence.

And in its wake, no one dared to fill the stillness, rendered mute by the evidence of Peter’s suffering.

Tony couldn’t help but feel like he’d stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have, like he’d witnessed something incredibly personal and _private. _He looked around the room—at Loki’s horrified pallor, at Thor’s hunched shoulders, at Bruce’s shaken mien, at Natasha’s inscrutable and carefully-schooled _devastation, _at Clint’s pinched expression (Tony didn’t know, _couldn’t _know, but when Clint looked at Peter, so small and tiny as he sat tucked under Happy’s arm, he couldn’t help but see his own children, young and carefree and _helpless_)_—_and knew he wasn’t the only one.

The threat of Thanos was nothing more than a far-off, intangible _concept_ to most of them, but not to Peter.

To Peter, this was a trip down memory lane to the worst moment of his life—to the worst tragedy that had ever hit him.

_“But then eight months ago, a band of brave heroes brought us back.”_

_Another video clip of the same gymnasium played: a group of students were running across the court, seemingly in the middle of a basketball game, when members of the marching band abruptly manifested out of thin air._

“Oh, thank _god,_” Pepper gulped in air. If watching the Midtown students disappear had brought back the feeling of _crushing _horror that had overwhelmed her that fateful day, then this video clip did the opposite. “It’s really, truly reversible.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey murmured, voice shaky with relief. “It’s – it’s a goddamn _miracle _is what it is.”

A miracle.

Truer words had never been spoken, Pepper thought. After so long struggling to stay afloat in a world wrecked by the Blip, she hadn’t allowed herself to hold on to hope—until today. For once, it felt like the future had bright things in store for them; it _finally _felt like the darkness would eventually make way for light. Pepper could hardly wait—

_Hold on. _Pepper’s brimming ecstasy careened to an abrupt halt as she made a startling realization. _Did she say—_

“Wait a second—_eight months ago!?_” Pepper echoed in horrified disbelief. As astute as ever, she was the first to put two and two together: “Oh my god, Peter, you said you were from 2024, didn’t you?” she recalled his introduction shakily; at the time, she hadn’t even paid much attention to it, simply assuming that it had been a while since his revival. Now, she knew otherwise. “Your schoolmate… she said people disappeared _five years ago, _and then she said they were only brought back _eight months ago._”

“You mean it – it took us five whole years to reverse what Thanos did?” Rhodey stammered, coming to the same cognizance. “That’s—... five years. Oh, god. _Five years_,” he repeated dumbly, struggling to wrap his mind around it.

They both turned to Peter in a moment of mutual _urgency, _and found him gazing up at the screen with a bittersweet expression. He, his two teenage friends and Happy had all since reseated themselves on the sofa in their original positions. No one dared to mention Peter’s panic attack; they all uneasily ignored its glaring significance, as if it had simply been swept under the rug.

“Five years,” Peter agreed, voice clear of his earlier breathless agitation. It was only two words, but they carried an unshakable weight. _Five years _meant _nearly two thousand days’ worth of missed chances_—missed birthdays, missed quiet dinners with his aunt, missed Decathlon meetings where he would invariably arrive late and his teammates would tease him mercilessly, missed movie nights with his friends, missed lab sessions, missed patrol nights.

Five years where he simply… _hadn’t existed._

Five years that could never be reclaimed.

The billions who'd vanished—who'd _died_—might have been revived, but the Thanos-shaped impact on the Earth had still yet to fade. Beyond the lives Thanos had suspended for five years, the snap of Thanos’s fingers had ultimately led to millions more deaths.

The first week after Peter had stumbled home to his aunt, face smudged with blood and ash, he’d holed himself up in his room and let news reports from the last five years wash over him.

He’d barely made it through thirty minutes of KAREN murmuring the reports in his ear before he’d yanked off his mask and staggered into his bathroom, retching into the toilet. He’d made himself sick over the thought of all the hopeless people who’d been driven to suicide, all the patients who’d died on the operating table as their surgeons dusted away, all the civilians who’d met gruesome fiery deaths in plane crashes and car crashes as pilots and drivers disappeared from behind the wheel, all the children who’d been left to starve on the streets without parents and homes as orphanages across the states reached full occupancy and were forced to close their doors.

Those deaths were irreversible—they should have been _preventable_—and the damage Thanos had wreaked on their universe felt beyond repair.

_“They called it 'the Blip.'”_

“‘The Blip’, _really_?” Sam echoed skeptically. “That’s actually the official name? I thought you guys were just messing with us, but...” He shook his head, face twisting with both amusement and confusion. “Of all the names, they chose _the Blip? _What a way to downplay the severity of the issue.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” T’Challa murmured, his eyes entranced by the screen. He knew he wouldn’t forget what he’d seen any time soon—both the sight of people _disintegrating piece by piece, _and the sight of people re-materializing. In less than a minute, EDITH’s footage had both broken and fixed his heart. “Maybe it’s their way of coping with it.”

Sam had nothing to say to that.

_“Those of us who Blipped away came back the same age,” Betty continued to give her account of the situation, accompanied by the image of a teenage girl—'Sue Lorman, 5 years ago', the caption read. Shortly after, the words “5 years ago” were replaced with “today”, though the girl looked unchanged. “But our classmates that _didn’t_ Blip had grown five years older.”_

_On the other half of the screen, a picture of a little boy revealed itself (captioned '_ _Brad Davis, 5 years ago'), before it was replaced by another image of the same student, appearing drastically older (captioned 'Brad Davis, today')._

Scott shivered at the picture Betty's words painted for them all. “That must have been weird,” he commented. “Sharing your class with a bunch of strangers.”

Peter smiled wryly. “Oh, yeah,” he agreed, a flicker of annoyance zipping through him as he observed Brad Davis on the screen. “Not the _weirdest _thing, and nowhere near the _worst _thing, but it was definitely a shocking change.” Brad was the biggest shock out of all of his new classmates, Peter reflected. Brad had taken it upon himself to take Flash’s place as the biggest jerk in Peter’s life—Flash, meanwhile, had calmed down after the Blip and its reversal, rarely speaking up in mockery of Peter nowadays as he stuck mostly to himself, a deeply ingrained uncertainty in his eyes.

(The Avengers may have overturned the Blip, but it didn’t erase the damage: Peter saw the long-lasting impacts of the Blip _everywhere, _in the presence of a young girl with Mr. Stark’s eyes, in the _exhaustion _Clint Barton carried with him everywhere, in even the constantly preoccupied and troubled look in Flash’s eyes.

Flash hadn’t changed completely, of course—he could still put on a damn convincing facade as a snob when he wanted—but he’d become _softer. _He was more subdued, more withdrawn and distrusting, these days.

The Blip had left a mark on everybody. Somedays, Peter felt like its imprint would never fade.)

Brad, though—Brad didn’t share Flash’s newfound reservations. Peter hadn’t known Brad before the Blip—and he didn’t think Brad had known _him_—but Brad certainly seemed to have it out for him now that they were in the same grade. Most of the time, it was over MJ’s affection that they butted heads. In fact, the last time he saw Brad, only one day before he’d taken MJ out on their last date and he’d been exposed before the world, Brad had stared him dead in the eyes and declared, completely self-assured in his own righteousness, _I’m going to figure you out, Parker, and when I do, MJ will leave you in the dust._

Peter had laughed in his face.

He definitely wasn’t laughing now—he hadn’t laughed in a long time—but. But. He glanced sidelong at MJ, the front of her face illuminated by the colors reflecting off the screen while shadows dappled the side of her face.

(_Beautiful._)

MJ jerked upright and twisted her head around, sensing his stare. She locked eyes with his before he could look away, and slowly, secretively, her lips quirked into a small smile. _You good? _she mouthed at him.

Peter bit back his own smile. He had lost a lot of things since Beck had outed him to the Daily Bugle and consequently the world, but MJ was one thing that had remained constant. In the months since he’d fled Queens, he’d taken as many chances as he could to call back home, with EDITH running interference to make sure the authorities couldn’t trace his calls. Between hurried phone calls as he skipped town after town, and stolen moments in the night staring up at the same sky, they’d tried to forget they were miles apart.

Running was difficult. But it would have been even _more_ difficult if he’d been truly alone. Honestly, Peter wasn’t sure he could have gotten this far at all if it hadn’t been for the constant outpour of support from his aunt, his girlfriend, his best friend, and even Happy.

_You were wrong, Brad. Sure, you figured me out—everyone did—but MJ stayed. She’s right here._

He shook his head, taking a moment to mouth back _yeah, I’m good _at MJ before turning around to face Scott once more. “A lot of things have changed in our lives,” he reiterated, “most of them bad. Five years is... a _really _long time.” His voice cracked at the end, but he soldiered on, reminding himself of his friends’ steadfast, unwavering presence in his life. “And even though sharing my class with a bunch of strangers was _objectively_ far from the worst part of the Blip, it’s hard to stay objective. All I know is that things would have sucked a lot more if I’d been _completely _surrounded by strangers.”

(Translation: _Things would have been a lot worse if I had no one. If I didn’t have you guys._)

Ned, for once overlooking Loki’s intimidating presence between them, reached out and clasped Peter’s hand tightly. Ned didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to.

It was enough.

Peter felt the beginnings of a smile—perhaps his first truly _genuine_ one since he’d woken up to Ned’s face hovering above him—touch his own lips. He squeezed Ned’s hand wordlessly.

(Translation: _Thank you for being here for me._)

Loki rolled his eyes between them, grumbling irately under his breath, “You _do_ realize I’m still here, right? I ought to stab you both.” Despite the ruthlessness of his words, Loki didn’t do anything to remove their hands from where they were clasped over his lap, unwilling to upset Peter. Peter's earlier panic attack was still fresh in his mind, and Loki couldn't deny he was rattled.

“I realize,” Peter said, grinning knowingly at Loki’s inaction. Sidling closer towards the god, he tentatively laid his head on Loki’s shoulder. “Thank you. To both of you.”

A strangled sound left Loki as he stared at Peter’s head on his shoulder in shock. He didn’t dare move a muscle, lest he disrupt Peter’s tranquility. He told himself it was only because he could _sense _the kid’s hot-tempered bodyguard glaring at him as if to warn him of the dire consequences that would befall him should he distress Peter, but he knew the truth: it had _nothing_ to do with Hogan’s unspoken threat, and _everything_ to do with his growing desire to see Peter happy.

_Chrissakes, _Loki cursed to himself._ What is this kid doing to me? I blame black magic. _Still, when Peter burrowed deeper into Loki with a contented hum, Loki felt his mouth twitching into a helpless smile without his permission.

Peter peeked up at Loki and noticed his indulgent—dare he say _tender_—expression. Relief surged within him, and his smile widened subconsciously. _This is nice._

_“Yeah, like my _little_ brother is now _older_ than me,” Jason added, looking thrown._

_“Yeah, it’s math,” Betty responded, annoyed. She took a moment to regain her composure, and then resumed speaking professionally even as the camera continued to capture Jason’s obvious befuddlement: “And even though we had Blipped away halfway through the school year and had already taken midterms, the school made us start the whole year over from the beginning.”_

_“It’s totally unfair,” he chipped in, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s not right.”_

“Ah, teenagers,” Rhodey sighed wistfully—bitterly, almost. “The world ended, and yet still their biggest problem is their school exams. I envy their carefreeness.”

“Can you really blame them?” MJ retorted, speaking up in defense of her peers. That was how she had always been: willing to stand up for what she believed in, and willing to go up against those above her to make sure her opinion was heard. “You said it yourself—the world ended. _Their _worlds ended. In the months after the Blip was reversed, it was all we could do to regain _our _version of normal. Because that’s all we had left. Normalcy.”

“Besides, it’s not as if any of the Avengers disclosed what actually happened,” Ned gave his two cents. “I mean, I’m lucky in that respect. I understood more than most other kids, thanks to Peter. But my classmates who were Blipped away? They were just _confused. _As far as they were concerned, they died due to strange, unexplainable circumstances and were brought back to life due to even stranger circumstances, and _no one would talk about it._ They have no idea about Thanos. They weren’t told _anything_—not about how they died, or what it took to revive them. The Blip is practically a taboo topic in our time.”

“You may think it’s naive and childish, but they’re just trying to cope,” MJ finished. “They’re just trying to live in a world they no longer recognize.”

_A world they no longer recognize._

Rhodey swallowed. “I... didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted, shame-faced. He’d been upset, _annoyed _even, to hear Jason and Betty complain about having to restart the school year. But MJ and Ned both had a point: school was the only constant in these students’ lives in the wake of the Blip’s reversal—the only _familiar_ and _comfortable_ thing they recognized—but all of a sudden, even that was ripped away from them. “I’m sorry. It isn’t my place to judge,” he tacked on, earnestly apologetic. He felt out of his depth.

“It’s fine. It’s just... Well, like I said,” Peter interjected, “five years is a long time. And five years’ worth of changes—in both our personal lives and public society—is _a lot_. The people who Blipped away... we missed _five years_ of the world turning on its axis, of people moving on and making new lives without us. We’re grateful the Avengers brought us back, of course we are, but no one can deny that we all came back to an entirely different reality from the one we knew. And some people were unlucky enough to come back to nothing—some people felt like there was no longer any room for them in their old lives.”

He paused, gazed away as if deep in thought. Rhodey bit his lip and tried to scrutinize Peter, but there was no penetrating the clouded, far-away look in his eyes.

_Dread it._

Peter shook off the echo of Thanos’s words and sighed. “We all have our problems,” he concluded. “Both the people who Blipped away, and the people who didn’t. We missed five years—but they had to _grieve_ us for five years. They had to find their way to some semblance of peace in a broken world. So yeah, we came back, but... the victory will always feel bittersweet. There’s an irreparable gap between the Blipped and the survivors that seems impossible to bridge. That’s why Thanos and the things he did… they’ll never leave us.”

_Run from it._

He laughed then, sad and coated in tragedy. “He wanted _balance,_” he spat the word like it was venom on his tongue. “There is _no_ balance in the new reality he carved out of our old one.”

_Destiny arrives all the same._

Peter’s smile was vitriolic, like betrayal. “All he did was _destroy_ us. No matter what, we’ll never be able to get back what he took from us.”

_I am... inevitable._

“There’s no going back,” Happy added in a hushed whisper. “Not for us.”

And, unspoken: _But you... you’re a different story. We can’t rewrite our own reality, not anymore, but _you_ can. You all still have the opportunity to write yourselves a better happy ending._

_Thanos doesn’t have to be inevitable. Destiny can change. Nothing has been set in stone, after all: the future isn’t static._

EDITH exploited the lull in conversation and continued the documentary, seeming to sense the others’ speechlessness.

_At this point, Betty seemed to be disregarding Jason's input completely. “Tigers,”—the sound-effect of a tiger growling played—“it’s been a long, dramatic, somewhat confusing road.”_

_The footage shifted to capture the bustling hallways of the school, taking in students and teachers alike as they went about the school-day. Betty’s voice continued in the background: “As we draw this year to a close, it’s time to _move on_…”—on the TV, she shot Jason a pointed look—“to a _new_ phase of our lives.”_

“Did anyone else catch the undertone of that ‘move on’?” Tony asked no one in particular. “Something definitely happened between them.”

“_Tony,_” Pepper chided, sighing, “_not _the point.”

Tony would have argued, if it weren’t for the lump in his throat that he was _convinced _stemmed from Pepper’s reproving sigh. In that moment, she’d sounded so unavoidably similar to his own version of Pepper—who was probably going crazy back in his original timeline, wondering where he was and what he’d gotten himself into _this time__—_that he couldn’t bring himself to speak and shatter the illusion.

_“Pray nothing crazy happens again because are the Avengers even, like, a _thing_ anymore?” Jason tacked on in an outburst of uncertainty-induced agitation. “Does anyone even have a plan!?”_

“Wait, what? What is he talking about?” Steve asked, a deep frown marring his face. His frown, steeped in disapproval, was the same frown as the one he wore in every single one of his Rapping with Cap videos. It was also, strangely, the frown that had marked his expression for the better part of the War of 2023. Peter couldn’t help but think that _all _of Steve’s frowns were the same: characterized by his signature Captain America’s Disappointed Look™. “Why wouldn’t the Avengers be ‘a thing’ anymore?”

“You haven’t exactly been seen in public for a while now,” Happy answered, unfazed by Captain America’s Disappointed Look™, because of course he was. Happy had his own Look of Disappointment that he’d taken the time to refine and perfect since meeting Peter. “That is to say, the Avengers haven’t popped up in the news at all since the War of 2023.”

“But _why_?” Steve was relentless. “Why would we _stop_ Avenging? How could we just ignore the plight of the people?”

_Ask yourselves that, _Happy was tempted to say. But Peter’s fingers were digging pointedly into his arm, and Happy had an inkling that Peter would _not_ be pleased if Happy made the Avengers out to be selfish and inconsiderate. (Peter truly was too forgiving—too _good_—to them all. He had never even _considered_ blaming the 2024 Avengers for his ongoing situation, even though _Happy_ firmly stood by his personal intolerant assessment of them. They _had_ made the choice to leave Peter high and dry, after all, after Beck had thrown Peter to the wolves. The Avengers’ official support would work _wonders _for Peter’s eventual exoneration, but they‘d kept their silence. It was infuriating.)

“The War of 2023 left a severe mark on us all,” Happy said finally, letting go of his anger for the moment. It wouldn’t do any of them any good, right now. “We’re all still dealing with the consequences. And the Avengers... It’s not that they’re _ignoring _the people’s troubles. But they’re struggling, too,” he made up an excuse with difficulty, vexed that he had to release the Avengers of the guilt he thought they deserved to feel. It wasn’t even just that they’d left _Peter _in the dark; they’d also left the people without a hero—_they_ certainly weren’t going out there to keep the streets safe at night.

Where were his Avengers now? Where were they when they were _needed_?

_The scene immediately cut to the inside of a classroom—most likely the art classroom, going by all of the artwork hung up around the room._

Pepper’s eyes watered when she took in all of the Iron Man drawings pinned to the wall in the back of the room. _Oh, Tony. _She’d always known he was more loved than he thought himself to be, but this made it clearer than ever. As gratifying as it was to _finally _see the world appreciate her fiancé, it _pained _her to realize that it had come at the cost of his death.

_Not in my world, _she vowed to herself. _It won’t take him dying to get the world to realize his worth, because he’s not going to die. He’s not._

_Peter pulled out a chair and sat down in front of, presumably, Ned. “I have a plan,” he announced._

“Oh, no. Oh, god.” Peter moaned in embarrassment, burying his face in his hands and sinking down in his seat. “_Seriously, _EDITH? You _had _to include this?”

The documentary paused momentarily as EDITH reminded him, “_The primary objective of Project Freedom is to portray you in a positive light, Peter. This includes showing clips of you in an everyday setting—which, in your case, means your high school life. Hopefully, if the public were to become aware that you are just an ordinary—innocent—teenager, it would detract attention from the current widespread perception of you._”

Peter sobered. He’d forgotten, for a moment there, that EDITH had done all of this to vindicate him. Thus far, he’d been too caught up in the hopes of changing the outcome of the War of 2023 to even think about his own problems, but now that EDITH had brought it back to his attention, he realized she had a point. “Right, right,” he sighed. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Why’s that?” Happy asked curiously. “What, exactly, happens here?”

Peter flushed at that, refusing to look Happy in the eye as he answered, vaguely, “Stuff.”

“‘_Stuff_’,” Happy repeated.

Peter nodded resolutely. “Stuff,” he reiterated.

Happy rolled his eyes. Figuring he wouldn’t get any more out of Peter, he turned to the other culprit instead. “You wanna tell me what’s up, Leeds?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…” Ned chanced a look at Peter. “Sorry, Mr. Happy, but Peter kind of has you beat in the brute strength aspect, what with his enhancements and all, so I’m going to have to say no.”

Peter _sagged _in relief, and then shot Happy a cheeky grin. “Yeah, _sorry, Mr. Happy,_” Peter imitated, clearly poking fun at Happy.

Happy just sighed. “You two _do _realize we’re all going to find out what happens soon enough, right?”

Peter’s merriment fled him at that. He let out a loud groan and flopped back down into the sofa, trying to bury himself in the cushioning. Too busy dying of embarrassment, Peter never noticed the growing amusement on Loki’s face.

_This kid, _Loki thought, shaking his head with a silent chuckle. _This goddamn kid._

_“Okay, first, I’m gonna sit next to MJ on the flight.”_

“Oh, god.” Sam burst out laughing. “Oh, my god. Please tell me this is going where I think it is. This is _priceless_!”

Peter sulked and stubbornly looked away. His gaze caught on MJ as he did so, and he wondered if he was merely imagining the flustered, blushing look on her face. It was dark in the room, but… no, he decided, he definitely wasn’t imagining it, _or _the shy smile that slipped onto her lips.

He turned back around to the TV and hid his own bashful smile.

_Ned hummed. “Mhm.”_

_“Second,” Peter continued eagerly, “I’m gonna buy a dual headphone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time.”_

MJ couldn’t help but smile ruefully at that, recalling their plane ride to Venice. She didn’t doubt that she would have enjoyed sitting next to Peter (although she probably would have hid it with a roll of her eyes and a teasing _of course you’d have a dual headphone adapter, loser_).

_“Okay.”_

_“Three,” Peter counted off. “When we go to Venice—” he paused, glanced up at Ned, and checked, “Venice is super famous for making stuff out of glass, right?”_

_“True,” Ned confirmed half-heartedly, looking entirely _done_ with Peter._

Clint guffawed. “That’s true friendship right then,” he snickered. He turned to Natasha and winked. “Right, Nat?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, refusing to indulge his antics.

(And if the corners of her lips upturned into the faintest hint of a smile after Clint had turned around, then, well, that was no one’s business but her own.)

_Peter beamed, either not noticing or not caring about Ned’s exasperation. “So I’m gonna buy her a black dahlia necklace because her favorite flower is the black dahlia because of, well…” he trailed off, giving Ned a significant look._

_“The murder,” Ned chimed in knowingly._

_“The murder,” Peter agreed. “Four, when we go to Paris, I’m gonna take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace, and then, five, I’m gonna tell her how I feel.”_

“You look so satisfied with your plan, you dork,” MJ poked fun at him, because she knew that if she _didn’t _take the chance to laugh at his expense, she’d instead be _cooing _and _gushing _over the sheer amount of forethought he’d put into this. And Michelle Jones was _not _a gusher. “Only you, Peter. Only you.”

“It was a _good_ plan!” Peter argued, but his eyes twinkled with mirth and there was no heat behind his words.

“A _cliché_ one,” MJ hedged. “I mean, the _Eiffel_, really? God, you utter sap. It’s very dramatic.”

Peter flushed. “Maybe you deserve dramatic,” he said softly, and MJ’s teasing look faltered in the face of Peter’s earnest sincerity. “You deserve the best.”

MJ’s heart caught in her throat. _You deserve the best._ After a moment, she cleared her throat and said, a little uncomfortable but still _genuine_, “And I have it.” She gave him a secretive smile then, this moment only for them, and he smiled timidly back at her.

“Cliché or not, I think I would have loved your plan,” she said after a while. “But for the record,”—she added before he could frown and spiral down a hole of guilt and self-pity—“I loved how it actually happened, too. Crazy as it was. That way, it was more true to our lives, you know? Chaos abound and all.”

Peter grinned at her.

“_Crazy_?” Sam echoed. “What actually ended up happening?”

Peter and MJ shared a conspiratorial smirk and laughed. MJ replied cryptically, “You’ll see.”

_“And then six,” Peter added as an afterthought, the excited look on his face chipping away at the edges, revealing a quiet nervousness, “hopefully she tells me she feels the same way.”_

MJ blushed. She kind of definitely felt the same way.

_“Oh, don’t forget step seven,” Ned interjected._

_“Step seven?” Peter inquired keenly, twirling the pen in his grip in preparation to take notes._

“Oh, _geez_, kid, are you seriously writing this down?” Tony asked in amusement. He tossed Peter a grin, surprised to realize that he was genuinely enjoying himself as the footage moved from more difficult topics to Peter’s lighthearted school-life. “Wow, you really _are_ a nerd, aren’t you?”

Peter didn’t dignify that with an answer.

(It was pretty obvious either way.)

_“Don’t do _any_ of that,” Ned supplied, shaking his head rapidly to ward Peter off from executing his plan._

_Peter deflated at once, his expression growing confused and slightly irritated. “Why?” he deadpanned._

_Ned didn’t seem to take notice of Peter’s visible irritation. “Because we’re gonna be bachelors in _Europe_, Peter!” he reminded Peter enthusiastically, as if that explained it all._

A bark of unrestrained laughter slipped from MJ’s lips before she could catch and smother it. “Ned, I can’t believe you’re being an even bigger dork than Peter usually is, right now. You two are _hilarious,_” she chortled.

Ned shot her a sheepish, apologetic grin, but MJ just shrugged, unbothered. She wasn’t offended. She liked to think she knew how Ned and Peter worked by now; she knew Ned didn’t mean anything by his comments.

Now that she and Peter were actually together and giving the whole “(long-distance) dating” thing a shot, Ned was arguably their biggest and most ardent supporter.

(…Don’t tell Aunt May that, though.)

_Peter stifled a frustrated sigh. “Ned—” Peter began in protest, already starting to shake his head._

_“Look,” Ned cut him off, “I may not know much, but I do know this: Europeans _love_ Americans.” He enunciated his ‘fact’ slowly and carefully, making sure to look Peter in the eye so there was no misunderstanding him._

_“Really?” Peter looked skeptical, squinting at Ned doubtfully._

_Ned nodded rapidly. “And more than half of them are women!” he added._

_“Okay, sure,” Peter allowed, “but… I really like MJ, man, okay? She’s awesome, she’s super funny in a kind of dark way, and sometimes I catch her looking at me, and I feel like I’ve stood up way too— she’s coming now. Just don’t say anything!” he hissed in a panic, flipping closed his notebook as MJ strolled up to their table._

_He thinks I’m awesome, _MJ thought giddily to herself, feeling like a little girl who’d just discovered her crush liked her back. In some abstract way, she’d already _known _that, of course. Peter wasn’t the type to lie or lead people on, after all. But even if she’d been aware of his feelings for her, it still made her chest swell with warmth to hear Peter say it out loud. _He actually said it: ‘she’s awesome.’ God, what is happening to me? I feel like I’m turning into a freaking fangirl._

And even better, he'd complimented her _humor. _She knew some people found her particular brand of funny to be weird or even disturbing, so it made her heart flutter to hear Peter rave about her sense of humor.

_“What up, dorks?” she greeted, just a shade off from stoic. If Peter had been unnecessarily animated and upbeat as he detailed his plan, MJ was his complete opposite. “Excited about the science trip?”_

“Wow, you guys are just the perfect couple, aren’t you?” Tony teased, referring to the vastly different vibes they put off.

“Well, they do say opposites attract,” Rhodey pointed out with a smirk. _You and Pepper prove that better than anyone, _he added privately to himself.

_“Hey, uh, yeah,” Peter stuttered. “We’re just… talking about the trip.”_

_“Yeah, and Peter’s plan,” Ned contributed._

“You had one job, Ned, _one job_!” Peter whined now.

_MJ blinked, bemused. “You have a _plan_?”_

_“I don’t—I don’t have a plan,” Peter denied, shaking his head furiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he glared at Ned for exposing him._

_Ned cleared his throat, finally realizing his mistake. In his attempt to come up with a believable excuse, he blurted out, “No, he’s – he’s just going to collect tiny spoons while we’re traveling to other countries.” He winked at Peter as if to say 'I’ve got your back' and leaned back in his seat in satisfaction, figuring that would do it._

_“Like a – like a grandmother?”_

Shuri nearly fell over with the force of her laughter.

Ned just groaned and dropped his head in embarrassment.

_Peter looked like he was deciding whether to throw himself off a cliff or skip town and change his identity. “I’m not collecting tiny spoons,” he said finally. And then, viciously, he pointed his pen at Ned and threw his friend under the bus, “_He’s_ collecting tiny spoons.”_

“Heartless,” Ned declared. “_No _sense of loyalty.”

“I stand by my decision,” Peter defended himself, adamantly _not _apologizing. “You’re the one who exposed me first! You totally deserved that.”

“Okay, so maybe I did,” Ned conceded.

_“Oh,”—she looked decidedly unconvinced—“okay, well... that was a real roller coaster.” To clarify the meaning of “that”, MJ gestured in their general direction, eyebrows still raised in clear skepticism._

_“Mhm,” Peter agreed, chuckling nervously._

_MJ squinted at the pair of them, but ultimately decided to move past the awkward moment. “By the way, travel tip: you should probably download a VPN on your phone, just so that the government can’t track you while we’re abroad.”_

_“Smart,” Peter remarked, already bobbing his head up and down eagerly. He was looking at MJ like she’d hung the stars. “Will do.”_

“Ah, young love,” Clint sighed dreamily. “So sweet. Those were the days.”

Peter made an embarrassing squeaking noise. MJ just locked eyes with Clint and, without missing a beat, retorted, “And I’ll bet ‘those days’ were a long time ago for you. What are you, pushing fifty?”

Clint squawked. (“So _that’s _why they call you Hawkeye,” Bruce remarked mildly, to which Tony doubled over laughing and slapped him on the back. “Why, I didn’t think you had it in you, Banner,” Tony beamed.) “Did you – did you just – ”

“Yep,” MJ replied nonchalantly, not once backing down.

(“_That’s_ my girlfriend,” Peter whispered to himself in awe. “Wow.”)

_MJ offered them her signature half-smirk and left. Ned sighed in relief just as the bell rang._

_“_Dude_,” Ned laughed, voice hushed. “I think that went really great!”_

_Peter didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, merely turning to stare at Ned with a distinctly unimpressed look on his face. _You think? Really? _his expression seemed to say._

“God, that was entertaining to watch. _Serious _comic relief, I’m telling you,” Scott joked, his laughter trickling off into silence as he wiped away the mirthful tears that had gathered in his eyes. “You just don’t know how to keep a secret, do you, kid?” he added playfully.

“Uh…” Ned stammered awkwardly, not sure how to respond to that. His face twisted into a half-grimace, half-nervous-smile, as he tried to play it cool with a laugh of his own.

Peter frowned. He could tell Scott was only teasing, but the discomfort on Ned’s face unsettled him. Or, more accurately, the trace of guilt lying beneath the discomfort unsettled him.

Ned had _nothing _to feel guilty about.

“Of course he can keep a secret,” Peter interjected, making up his mind and defending Ned. Scott _meant _no harm, sure, but Peter didn’t want anyone to misunderstand his and Ned’s friendship. “I trust Ned with my life. He knew I was Spider-Man before nearly anyone else.” Granted, Ned had found out purely on accident, stumbling across Peter in his suit, but even then he’d known he could count on Ned to keep his secret. He had a feeling he would have eventually spilled the beans to Ned, anyway, even if he _hadn’t _already discovered Peter’s secret identity on his own.

He meant what he’d said: he _did _trust Ned. And since uncovering Peter’s alter ego, Ned had only proven Peter was right to have faith in him. Sure, Ned could be a little overeager and loose-lipped at times, and he didn’t always know when to keep his mouth shut (the whole _“Peter knows Spider-Man!” _incident came to mind), but when it came down to it—when it really _mattered—_Peter _knew _Ned would never intentionally betray his trust.

His mind unwittingly flashed back to the night of their Homecoming dance, when Peter had donned his old home-made suit and left in search of the Vulture, his Guy-in-the-Chair keeping him company over the comms.

(“Peter!”_ Ned’s voice came through after Peter swerved Flash’s car sharply and ultimately crashed, sounding urgent. “Are you okay?’_

_“Yeah,” Peter grunted, leaping over the side of the car. “Just keep trying to get through to Happy.”_

_“It’s been an honor, Spider-Man.”_

_“What are you doing here?” a new voice_ _—recognizable as their physics teacher, Ms. Warren—_ _appeared from Ned’s end of the line. “There’s a dance.”  
_

_“Uh…” Ned stalled. Peter couldn’t see it, but Ms. Warren was staring at Ned sternly. “I’m… looking at porn.”_)

Peter set aside the memory, the thought of Ned’s nervous but determined voice keeping him warm even now. Even when threatened with disciplinary action, Ned had refused to sell Peter out, sticking with his story. Ms. Warren had been scandalized. Principal Morita had been horrified.His parents had been appalled, and then furious, and then disappointed. Through it all, Ned hadn’t wavered, choosing to quietly accept his punishment rather than expose Peter; for his troubles, he’d received two weeks’ worth of detention from the principal and an even longer grounding from his parents.

And in the end, Ned hadn’t even held it against Peter in the slightest. He’d simply bounded up to Peter the next time they’d seen each other, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, and said jubilantly, _I saw what happened on the news. You kicked ass, Peter!_

Ned hadn’t once blamed Peter for dragging him into his mess. In fact, he never so much as brought it up, though Peter had never forgotten.

One thing was clear: not once had Ned _ever_ given him any reason to doubt his friendship or loyalty. Peter said as much now: “Ned’s _always _had my back. That has _never _been in question, not even for a moment.”

Peter saw Ned blink back tears, glimpsed the sheer _gratitude _in his wordless expression, and knew he’d done the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took so long to get out, but I hope I did everyone’s reactions justice! I’m going to try to give everyone equal screen-time throughout this fic (I know some characters haven’t showed up yet, but I promise they will all make an appearance eventually). However, bear in mind that I will probably end up focusing on Peter and Tony (this is Iron-Dad, after all), so let me know if there’s a specific character’s thought process you want to see more of, or anything like that! I’m more than happy to oblige.
> 
> Also, I know there wasn’t a lot of action here, and I haven’t gotten very far into the movie, but I really wanted to flesh out the characters’ reactions in this first part since they’re finally finding out a little bit about what happens (i.e. the sacrifices and some subtler consequences of the Blip). I do have another chapter already drafted, though, and I’ll upload that as well as soon as I finish making some final changes to it. I was initially planning to put it all in one chapter, but this one was getting kind of wordy, so I decided to split it here.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you thought!


	6. Part II: "You do not ghost Nick Fury!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers continue watching Spider-Man: Far From Home. They finally get a glimpse of Peter's beloved 'Aunt May'. Additionally, Happy makes an appearance in the footage and gives Peter some startling news about Nick Fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in just as many days? I know, shocker, right ^^
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! Also, shoutout to kcbalfour on AO3 for their comment on my last chapter that inspired one of Bucky's reactions in this chapter! I hope you don't mind I used some of what you said <3

_The footage switched to the exterior of building, decorated by a banner reading 'Homeless Support'. When the scene moved on, capturing the inside of the building, there were two people standing onstage—a woman and Spider-Man, facing an assortment of men, women and children clumped together in round tables._

“What the—” Tony blinked. “Oh. Hold on, is the one in the suit you, kid? ‘Spider-Man’?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated. “Actually, you, uh, _you_ gave me the suit, Mr. Stark.” _If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it. _“It’s, heh, a lot more advanced than my old one. You, or my timeline’s version of you anyway, put a lot of safety protocols into the suit.”

Tony looked inordinately pleased. “Good,” he grunted. “_Someone _has to keep you safe.”

Peter flushed scarlet and looked away, a little embarrassed. But another part of him was also _touched, _because this version of Tony Stark didn’t know him, and yet still he seemed concerned about Peter’s well-being. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered. “You… you keep”—_‘kept’, Peter, it’s _‘kept’_ now_—“me safe.”

“Oh my god,” Sam whispered suddenly in a burst of realization, cutting off anything Tony might have said in response. (Peter wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Tony would have said to that.) Sam swung around and pointed an accusing finger at Peter. “You’re that punk from the airport!”

Peter froze. _Not grateful, _he decided. _Not grateful. _“Uh, yeah?” he said nervously, bracing himself for Sam’s reaction.

But Sam didn’t say anything, simply gawking at him in shock.

It was Bucky who spoke first. “_Dude_!” Bucky was looking at Sam like he was an idiot. “You _just_ realized that? Honestly, Sam, _keep up. _He was shooting _webs _in Berlin, and his name is _literally _Spider-Man, you dumbass.”

“Oh, _shit_,” Sam blinked. _He’s right. Jesus Christ, how did I miss that? More importantly, how did _Barnes_ of all people come to that conclusion before me?_

“Wait, Berlin?” Fury cut in. “What was Spider-Man doing in Berlin with you two?”

Peter, along with the majority of the Rogue Avengers, stiffened. 

“Oh, it wasn’t just us,” Sam answered before he could notice the alarmed glare on Bucky’s face. “We were with—”

“_Wilson,_” Bucky gritted out.

Sam broke off, sparing Bucky a glance. He looked confused when he saw Bucky’s expression. “Wha… oh. _Oh._” He reddened with embarrassment and chagrin when he realized his mistake. _They’re not supposed to know about the Civil War, dumbass. The Avengers have barely come together in 2012. They're definitely not ready to hear about their potentially-impending dissolution. _He wetted his lips nervously and tried to backtrack, “Never mind. Sorry. It’s not that important but it _is_ a long story, and you know what, we’re already in the middle of Peter’s story, so.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at Sam’s attempts to dismiss the significance of the incidence.

Fury stared at Sam and Bucky both suspiciously, but eventually let it go, realizing Sam had a point. He doubted the story was actually as unimportant as Sam claimed it to be, but they _were _in the middle of going through EDITH’s documentary. There would be time to figure out what had happened in Berlin later, he decided, shooting Natasha a meaningful look. For now, he settled back in his seat and got ready to continue watching.

_The woman, standing in front of the microphone, began to speak: “When I Blipped back to my apartment, the family that was living there was very confused. The wife thought that I was a mistress. The grandma thought that I was a ghost. It was,”—she broke off into a laugh—“it was really a mess.”_

_The audience laughed along with her. The frame zoomed in to capture the woman’s face, revealing that she was the same woman whose face EDITH had borrowed. That meant she had to be Peter’s Aunt May, they all realized. “Thank you all for coming out to support those who have been displaced by the Blip. And, of course, thanks to our very own Spider-Man!”_

“Damn, kid, _that’s_ your aunt?” Tony whistled, his brain-to-mouth filter failing him as he remarked, “I find it hard to believe that _that _woman is old enough to be _anyone’s_ aunt.”

“Really, Tones?” Rhodey groaned, unimpressed.

“What?” Tony said defensively. “I’m just complimenting Aunt Hottie.”

“_Tony_!” Steve reprimanded, shooting Tony a scandalized look. His eyes slid worriedly to Pepper.

Pepper just snorted, raising her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” she said simply. “I’m not insulted if that’s what you think.” And she _wasn’t. _Pepper was more than used to Tony’s eccentricities by now, and she knew Tony tended to make off-handed, _harmless_ comments that usually came back to bite him in the ass. But they were just that: harmless.

“See, Cap?” Tony said smugly. “Pep doesn’t care. Maybe you need to remove the stick up your ass.”

“Well, _she _might not mind, but what about Peter?” Steve pointed out, graciously ignoring Tony’s snide utterance. “She _is _actually his aunt, you know.”

Tony paused, considering that. “You’re right,” he conceded grudgingly. He kicked himself for the careless compliment now—before today, he could count on one hand the amount of times he’d been in the presence of an impressionable minor for an extended amount of time. He hadn’t realized how inappropriate his words might have sounded, in Peter’s ears.

He sighed but gave in, turning to shoot Peter a quick apology. “Sorry, kid, I swear I didn’t mean anything by it,” he offered.

Peter nodded distractedly. He knew Tony hadn’t meant any harm. Tony was just like that, sometimes. He said stupid things, but that was what made him _Tony._

Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard Tony refer to his aunt as “hot.” In fact, Tony had made nearly the exact same blunder the first time they’d met in Peter’s timeline.

_It’s so hard for me to believe that she’s someone’s aunt._

_Might be a little dangerous. Better tell Aunt Hottie I’m taking you—_

_Hey, May. How’re you doing? What are you wearing? Something skimpy, I hope._

“—hey, _hey_, kid,” Tony was saying, a hint of panic in his voice. “Please don’t cry. I was just playing around. Honestly, I don’t even know why I said it, I just—”

_What? Don’t cry? _Peter thought to himself, confused. _Why would he say that? Why would I be crying…?_

“Oh,” Peter mumbled dazedly when he reached up to touch the underside of his eyes and met water. He brushed away the tears with the pads of his fingers. “I’m – I’m fine,” he reassured Tony, sniffling. “Really, I am. I just…”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Tony repeated himself, concerned.

Peter shook his head with a quiet, miserable laugh. “No, no, that’s not—I mean, you _didn’t_ offend me, I promise. You just…” he paused, breath shuddering on its way out. “You remind me of my Mr. Stark,” he said at last, _drenched _in honesty.

Tony fell silent, blinking dumbly at Peter. He didn’t know how to respond to that, or how to comfort Peter when it looked like the boy might be one strong breeze away from crumpling.

Peter laughed again, just as dejected, and waved away any attempts Tony might have made to console him. It wasn’t _this _Tony’s reassurances he wanted, after all.

“I see where you get your heroic streak from, kid,” Loki said quietly, drawing Peter out of his musings. Peter looked up and followed the god’s thoughtful stare to his aunt. “She strikes me as an honorable woman.”

Peter smiled proudly, his sorrow dissipating gradually at the thought of his aunt. “Yeah,” he agreed, not daring to take his eyes off May. “May is… she’s just great. She tries to help whenever she can.”

“I sense you two are a lot alike in that sense,” Loki hummed. “Am I right?”

Peter blushed. “I don’t…”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Happy jumped in before Peter could talk himself down. “They’re both unbelievably selfless. Peter’s the most self-sacrificing kid you’ll ever meet, let me tell you that.”

Loki’s smile was a quiet, serene thing. “I don’t doubt it,” he agreed readily.

_The audience cheered and applauded as Peter waved stiffly. He stood in place for a long, extended moment, unsure how to proceed. In the end, May had to gesture at the microphone twice before Peter got the point and awkwardly made his way over._

_Spider-Man cleared his throat. The microphone emitted a high-pitched squeal in protest. “Thank you, Ms. Parker, for having me,” he motioned at May. He paused, clueless as to what to say next, before he finally settled on, “And thank you, you guys, for having me!” Spider-Man took a tiny step backwards to signify that he had finished speaking, shooting the audience two thumbs up as he did so._

“Give me a _break_,” Peter grumbled before anyone could make fun of him. He could practically _sense _MJ’s amusement from all the way over where he sat.

(Inwardly, he locked up a mournful smile. _If only_ he could go back to those times. Awkward as it had been, it was _worlds_ better than being a fugitive. At least back then, he’d been _admired _and _adored _instead of feared and hated. And while he didn’t really care about Spider-Man’s reputation—_“I’ve never been in it for the fame, Ned. That’s not who I am – that’s not who Spider-Man is. I'm not doing this for their gratitude. But how can I help people if they don’t let me? How can I save them if they don’t trust me?”_—he couldn’t exactly _operate _if he was being hunted 24/7. He’d never forgive himself if someone died because they didn’t think he was dependable.

He’d made mistakes with Beck, mistakes that allowed Beck to continue painting him as the villain even now after he’d died. Beck was the one who'd twisted his words, but _Peter _was the one who'd been too gullible to see the truth in the first place.

And if someone died because he wasn't _there_… that would be on _him._)

_“And thank you, Spider-Man!” May took over smoothly, rushing back to the microphone after Peter had stepped away. “And he’ll be right back out to take photos and videos. Thank you!”_

_The two of them made their way backstage. May pulled the curtains closed as Peter’s mask disappeared, nanoparticles crawling back into the rest of his suit._

“Well, _damn_,” Scott breathed, admiring the show of what Stark’s technology was capable of. The sheer _efficiency _of the technology was obvious even to the naked eye; Scott had no doubt that Stark had streamlined Spider-Man’s suit as much as possible, creating a seamless functionality.

“You can say that again,” Tony agreed, looking shameless as he praised his own—or rather, his future self’s—work. He’d done a little work on nanotechnology himself, but he still had yet to quite nail it down—not in the way he would evidently one day achieve with Spider-Man’s suit, at least. Despite everything else he had seen so far, he found himself quietly _excited _to unlock those developments in technology.

_Besides, the faster I can improve my tech and my suits, _he reminded himself as the memory of being suspended in space, facing what he had been sure would be his own destruction, sunk into him like a parasite, _the better I will be able to protect the people I care about._

_“That was amazing!” Peter whooped with a bright, cheery grin. He turned around with a visible bounce to his step, holding his hand up for a high-five._

_God. He… he looks so _happy_. He looks like all is right in the world._

Clint struggled to reconcile the cheerful teenager on the screen with the terrified one he’d seen earlier, unraveling under his memories. It seemed impossible that they were the same person; they looked worlds apart, and Clint wondered how anyone who’d been through the things Peter had could look so merry.

Looking at this Peter in EDITH's footage, it felt like a load off his chest to see him _smiling, _like the child he was. (Like the child he _should_ be.)

When this was over, Clint decided, he was going to take each of his kids and his wife into his arms and give each of them the tightest, _longest _hug any of them had ever experienced. And then he was going to wipe away the tears, put on his suit, and do his _damndest _to help the other Avengers kick Thanos’s ass.

He’d do it for his family and his friends, and he’d do it for Peter. Peter, who deserved to have the chance to be a _kid_ again.

And no kid should _ever _have to look the way Peter did as he’d tried to ward off Thanos and his own demise in his memories.

_“That was _great_!” May agreed, her voice sing-song. She reached up and slapped his palm with her own seamlessly as they walked past one another._

Even though they’d only been onscreen together for a short while, it was obvious to everyone that they were like a well-oiled machine; this, they realized, was the reason why EDITH had chosen to impersonate May’s appearance. It went unspoken—implicit in his every action—but it was clear that Peter felt the most comfortable and at ease with his aunt.

_“Ah—that was _so cool._ I was so nervous!” Peter gushed, the breath whooshing out of him in a speedy exhale._

_“I’m sorry I was a little stiff,” May said, but the giddiness on her face contradicted her words. “I felt like I wasn’t in the pocket.”_

_“No, I thought you did great!” Peter didn’t hesitate to reassure May._

Peter smiled softly as he watched himself interact with his aunt. He had always been her biggest fan, and he’d never tried to hide that fact.

He wished she was with them here. He just _knew _that if she were here, she wouldn’t hesitate to engulf him in one of her signature crushing hugs, the kind that made him feel like he was invincible.

_“Yeah, well I actually _did_ think _you_ were a little stiff,” May mentioned, pointing at her nephew._

_Peter paused for a second, blinking, before he smiled sheepishly and nodded in agreement. “Uh, yeah, I felt that, too,” he conceded with a shrug. “I felt that, too.”_

_“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” May dismissed with a little grin, clearly still riding the high of their public appearance. Peter barely had the time to breathe an _okay _before May plunged on, switching subjects effortlessly, “Did you get your passport?”_

_Peter nodded. “Yeah.”_

_“Mini toothpaste?” she checked._

_“Yeah, I did.”_

_Coming from somewhere behind them, a rattling noise clanged through the room. The mask of Spider-Man abruptly reappeared around Peter’s head, who didn’t waste any time to turn around in alarm. May followed suit and twisted to look._

_It ended up being Happy walking in the door, carrying a big check for the charity they were supporting. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he apologized distractedly, offering them both a quick smile in acknowledgement._

“_Happy_?” Tony looked thrown. “What in god's name are you doing at a _charity event_? And with a _smile _on, no less?” This was the same guy who, without fail, would spend hours bickering with Tony whenever Tony announced his upcoming attendance at another charity gala, after all. (_It’s way too public and way too dangerous, _Happy would argue. _You’d be putting yourself at risk. I’m just one person—I can’t secure all of the entrances, and there’s no way in hell I’m trusting an outside company with your safety._) Tony had never imagined he’d see the day Happy looked, well, _happy _to be at an event like this.

“I was showing my support while representing _your _company at the same time,” Happy shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable at Tony’s attention. He still couldn’t meet Tony’s eye. “Why are you so surprised I’m smiling? It’s a charity for the _homeless_. I’m not an _asshole._”

“Uh-huh.” Peter raised a skeptical eyebrow at Happy. “That’s not why you’re smiling, and you _know _it.”

Happy flushed. “Shut up, kid,” he groused, one hand landing on Peter’s head and half-heartedly shoving him away as he tried to push down the embarrassed blush from his cheeks.

“Oh? Happy, are you _blushing_?” Tony looked intrigued. “_Do _tell. What is he hiding, kid?”

Peter grinned and opened his mouth—

Happy clapped a hand over Peter’s mouth unapologetically. “Not another _word _out of you, Parker,” he warned.

_The mask disappeared once more. “Happy,” Peter welcomed, looking pleasantly surprised. “Hey.”_

_“Oh, you look lovely,” Happy addressed May as he came to a stop in front of them, completely ignoring Peter’s greeting._

_“Thanks,” May replied cheerily, though the sheer excitement in her smile had softened to a more earnest joy. “You, too.”_

_Peter took a wary step backwards to assess the situation more clearly, staring at the two in bewildered confusion._

_“Thank you,” Happy replied. He gave May another once-over and realized, “New dress?”_

“Happy, are you… are you trying to _flirt_?” Tony exclaimed delightedly.

Happy looked away, blushing furiously, and refused to answer.

_“Uh, yeah,” May answered with a grin. “Yes, it is.” EDITH’s footage perfectly captured Peter’s baffled, dumbfounded expression as he looked back and forth between them. “That’s a new beard,” May noted in turn, gesturing at her own chin._

_“It’s my – my Blip beard,” Happy explained sheepishly. “‘Cause I grew it in the Blip.” Happy must have finally felt Peter’s gaze on him, because he turned to Peter, looking mildly embarrassed. “It’s a Blip beard,” he repeated himself._

_“I see,” May said. She was smiling, still, but there was something about the smile that had changed—there was a sweeter, more inviting quality, maybe. “Yeah.”_

“Of all that is good and holy,” Tony groaned, cringing from secondhand embarrassment. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this. Platypus, are you _seeing _this?”

Rhodey nodded, wide-eyed and captivated. He didn’t even bother to say anything sarcastic in response to Tony’s question (_I’m sitting right next to you, _of course _I’m seeing it_), instead saying, “I’m seeing it, Tones, but I don’t think my brain is processing it.”

Tony burst out laughing at that, his glee a full-blown cackle that made Rhodey smile fondly and blink back tears. “God, Happy, who knew that all it takes to render you speechless is one beautiful woman?”

“I wasn’t _speechless,_” Happy argued.

“Well, you were definitely _something,_” Tony rejoined. “Your _Blip beard_? God, I can’t even —” he muffled a sigh, still half-laughing, and shook his head. “What about you, kid?” he addressed Peter then. “How do you feel about Happy making eyes at your aunt? It must have been awkward to watch them go at it.”

Happy froze, choking on air, because he could take Tony’s teasing of his disastrous attempts at flirting—he could _handle _that. Besides, he’d missed Tony too much to actually get mad at him for something like this. Honestly, it made him feel all _warm _and _sentimental_ inside to see Tony like this—smiling and jovial—as if all was well in the world.

But Tony’s nonchalant question dredged up an insecurity he hadn’t realized still existed. Truth be told, he didn’t know for certain how Peter felt about his relationship with the boy’s aunt. The last time he saw Peter face-to-face, right before Peter swung out to go on a date with MJ… well, Happy didn’t much like to think about that day—both the awkward semi-discussion, semi-confrontation with the Parkers, and everything that came _after_.

And yeah, he’d spoken with Peter on the phone occasionally since then, but those calls were mostly spent with Peter catching Happy up on how the whole identity reveal and “on-the-run-from-the-government” situation was going on his end, and vice versa. It wasn’t as if they _never _talked about how their _personal _lives were going, but either way, Happy had made a point to avoid any talk about his and May’s “thing” during his conversations with Peter.

So he didn’t _know. _He liked to imagine that he and Peter had grown close enough by now that the boy didn’t mind his bond with May, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, in Peter’s eyes, he would never be deserving of May’s affection. He knew that Peter had _adored _his late uncle, and Happy had no intentions of replacing Ben Parker, but he also feared that he would never be _enough. _That, despite how much he cared about May and Peter both, he would never live up to Ben.

“Please _never _say that they’re ‘going at it’ to my face again,” Peter begged, nose scrunching up in horror. He paused for a moment then, looking thoughtful as he considered Tony’s question in earnest.

Happy swallowed, squirming anxiously in his seat, and endured an entirely new torture as he waited for Peter’s verdict. He felt a little like he was teetering on a tightrope, his budding relationship with May hanging in the balance.

Finally, Peter just shrugged, shooting Happy a knowing smile out of the corner of his eye. “To be honest, Mr. Stark, I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be with May more than Happy. I mean, yeah, it was _weird _to think about them together at first, but I have no doubt that Happy makes my aunt smile in a way she hasn't in a while. So, yeah. I’m glad they found each other,”—he paused, taking a moment to narrow his eyes at Happy in a warning glare—“so long as they keep their hands off of each other _in front of me_, that is.”

Happy rolled his eyes at Peter’s cheek but nodded obligingly, inwardly relieved and even a little thrilled. He knew May loved Peter more than anything—the two Parkers were inseparable, _a package deal. _May would move mountains for Peter; if Peter didn’t approve of their relationship, if Peter wasn’t _comfortable _with them as a couple, he knew May wouldn’t hesitate to put an end to their relationship before it had even really begun.

“Yeah, yeah, kid,” he agreed with a dismissive harrumph, pretending he wasn’t touched by Peter’s stamp of approval.

_“Anyway,” Happy coughed, moving on and hastening to explain himself, “so, the reason I’m late is because this was misplaced at the office. Can you believe it? Because it’s enormous.” He paused, seemed to realize how that sounded, and quickly corrected himself, “I mean, not the amount—the size. The amount’s nice, too. They’re very generous.”_

“I never thought I’d see the day. Happy Hogan, _rambling_ because he’s got a crush. It’s adorable,” Tony cooed. “_You’re _adorable, Hogan. I _knew _you were just a softie on the inside.”

“I am _not_ rambling,” Happy bit back in protest. “Peter’s the rambler. _I_ don’t ramble. And who do you think you’re calling ‘softie’? Call me that again and I’ll _show _you ‘softie’, you—”

“Well,” Tony said smugly, “the evidence proves otherwise, _rambler. _Face it: you’re in denial, Hap.”

Happy objected with an angry splutter. He was _not _in denial.

_Happy, seeming to realize he was only digging himself a deeper hole the longer he spoke, gave up and handed the check to May, who accepted it graciously._

_Her eyes widened, and she laughed in surprise, when she finally laid eyes on the proffered amount._

“Holy _smokes,_” Sam whistled. “‘Generous’ is an understatement.”

Tony shrugged. “Stark Industries has money to spare,” was all he said, with complete honesty. He frowned. _That probably means we’re not doing enough. _He opened his mouth to make a reminder, before abruptly remembering that JARVIS wasn’t with him. He swallowed down the words, scowled, and continued the thought in the privacy of his mind, _Note to self: look into a few charities when you get back. I’d say a few sizable donations here and there are long overdue._

Pepper, on the other hand, wasn’t focusing on the amount. Rather, she was fixated on the fact that that was _her_ signature on the check, _not Tony’s_. It only reaffirmed her greatest fear that she would one day lose him to Iron Man, and it took everything she had to keep herself from collapsing then and there.

_“Thank you,” May said, smiling earnestly up at Happy._

_Happy shifted, squirming. “Pepper Potts said, sorry she couldn’t be here,” he offered._

_May nodded. “I think I’m going to go change the Sterno under the vegan lasagna,” May excused herself, but didn’t leave quite yet; she looked back at Happy, whose gaze was already on her, and they stared into each other’s eyes for a prolonged second, clearly sharing a moment._

_ May shook herself out of the moment first, turning to Peter. “Spider-Man, go shake hands,” she instructed._

_“Will do,” Peter saluted, though he still looked more than a little confused. As soon as May left the room, he turned to Happy with an accusatory look on his face. “What just happened?” he demanded._

_Happy, naturally, deflected. “Head’s up,”—he nodded at Peter—“Nick Fury’s calling you.”_

“What.” Rhodey’s voice was low, _dangerous_. A latent fury simmered in his gut. “_What._ I must be going insane, because you did _not _just say that Fury—of _SHIELD_—is trying to get in contact with Peter Parker.”

“Either we’re all hallucinating the same thing, or you’re certifiably _not_ insane,” Pepper said. “Are you going to blow a fuse over this, because—”

“What the actual _shit_, Fury!?” Rhodey snarled before Pepper could even finish voicing her question, voice practically a yell, as the latent fury spasmed and _exploded _inside him. “What the _shit. _He’s a _child, _you asshole. You have no fucking shame, you—”

So that was a yes, then.

“In my defense,” Fury drawled, seemingly unbothered by Rhodey’s display of rage, “I haven’t actually _done _anything yet. And considering he fought _Thanos, _it’s clear that I won’t exactly be the first to bring ‘the child’ into conflict.”

Rhodey glared. “That doesn’t give you the right to drag him into your messes!” he snapped, refusing to back down. It didn’t matter that Peter had already been irrevocably entangled in a “big world-ending” disaster (in the words of Agent Hill) once before, thanks to Thanos’s attack. Thanos was a different situation _entirely_; Thanos had posed an irrefutable threat, one that had _forced _their hand. Against Thanos, Peter hadn’t had a real choice. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all, and they’d never been more desperate than they were in the face of Thanos’s might. They’d all done what they had to to try to protect the Earth (even if it had ended up with them _failing, _disastrously).

But Thanos was _gone _in Peter’s time, and Peter finally had the chance to have a childhood again. There was no way in _hell _Nick Fury was taking that away from Peter, after he’d already had to give up so much of his youth to be Spider-Man. “Since when were you in the practice of condoning child soldiers, huh, because _that’s _what this sounds like to me!” Rhodey added scornfully.

Fury’s gaze darkened, the first sign that Rhodey’s accusations actually rattled him. “Again, I haven’t _done _anything,” he countered, schooling his expression once more. The offense faded, and in its place only a cool indifference remained.

“He’s right,” Natasha added. “There’s no use in attacking Fury. Believe me, I’d be the _first _to raise hell at the prospect of exploiting child soldiers,”—she sat straight-backed with tension, her nerves vibrating as she spoke, heart pulsing to the beat of _welcome to the red room_ and _we have no place in the world_ and _kill kill kill_—“but he isn’t guilty of anything yet, and… Peter clearly seems to be capable if he can stop crime as Spider-Man.”

“That’s _different,_” Rhodey argued. “He’s Spider-Man by _choice._” He’d made sure of that: Rhodey had only ever brought up the issue of Peter’s age with Tony _once, _when he’d asked _how the hell did he get involved in our world so young? _It hadn’t been an accusation, not exactly, but it had _stung _like one and _Tony_ had certainly taken it as one. Tony had looked at him for a long, long time, and then he’d shaken his head and said _I didn’t think I’d have to defend myself, not to you. _After that, well, Tony had avoided speaking to him for two weeks.

Rhodey shook his head now, the memory of Tony’s wounded eyes leaving him. “_No one _pushed him into taking up the mantle of Spider-Man. _That_ isn’t the same as _this,_” he enunciated, the words sharp and unmistakable in their condemnation, because his Tony cared about Peter more than anyone (Tony himself included) knew, because his Tony would have lost his _shit _if he were here to see this. “Here, you’re approaching him _first._”

Pepper planted a firm, placating hand on his arm, urging him to settle down. Rhodey looked down at her—he hadn’t even been aware he’d shot up to his feet while making his opinions clear—and ground his teeth together, displeased.

She shook her head minutely—_they have a point, Fury hasn’t done any of this yet_—and Rhodey sat back down with great reluctance, an annoyed puff of air escaping him.

_Peter’s eyes widened with shock as all suspicions about Happy and May’s strange interaction left his mind. “Nick Fury’s gonna call _me_?” he spluttered in disbelief. He didn’t wait for a confirmation before pressing onwards, “Why?”_

_“_Why_? Because he probably has some hero stuff for you to do,” Happy explained like it should be obvious. “You’re a superhero. He – he calls superheroes.”_

_“Well, I mean, if it was _really_ that important, he’d probably call someone else, not me,” Peter reasoned, his insecurity acting up. After all, why would the Director of SHIELD request the assistance of Spider-Man—a friendly neighborhood superhero at best, and a vigilante-slash-public-menace at worst—when he could call on the likes of Captain Marvel (if she’d finished her ‘errands’) and Thor?_

Happy snorted derisively to himself. _Yeah, right. The Avengers haven’t been seen in ages, and…_

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Peter was still relatively _new _to the superhero scene—or at least to the “major leagues,” as Tony would call it. Compared to some of the other Avengers who had been in this line of work (or a related one) for _years _longer, Peter was considerably inexperienced. He didn’t have Barton’s wealth of practical knowledge gained from his time as an agent, or even Rhodey’s extensive background as an army soldier; Peter was _young _and mostly untrained.

But even so, even without receiving a formal indoctrination to the superhero gig, Peter had yet to let them down. Peter never faltered, never _buckled _under the pressure of balancing his two lives. Perhaps even more crucially, Peter _refused _to fail, so determined was he to do the right thing and save others.

Peter thought his youth and inexperience made him a liability. Peter thought that meant that other superheroes were better suited to assisting Fury in an “important” Avengers matter.

Happy saw Peter’s innocence, saw Peter’s still-existent _faith _in the world where his seniors had long-since lost vitality, and thought there was no one better.

_Even if the Avengers were still around these days, I’d put my life in your hands over theirs any day._

_As if in disagreement with Peter’s statement, his phone started buzzing inside his bag._

_Perfect timing._

Happy absolutely did not smirk smugly as Fury’s call unknowingly reinforced his thoughts.

He wasn’t _petty_, after all.

(Okay, _yes_, he _was_ smirking, goddamnit. He completely blamed Peter’s influence for this. He’d always _known_ hanging around with an immature teenager would be bad for him.

And no, he wasn’t going to stop associating with Peter, thank you very much.)

_“Apparently not,” Happy noted, approaching Peter as he rifled through his bag and dug out his phone. Happy peeked at the screen from over Peter’s shoulder and nodded with a pleased grunt, as if he had all the information he needed. “See? No caller ID. That’s him.”_

_Peter looked up, wide-eyed, and shook his head at Happy. “I don’t really wanna talk to Nick Fury,” he stalled._

_Happy heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Answer the phone,” Happy directed._

_“Why?”_

_Happy growled. “Because if you don’t talk to him, then I have to talk and I don’t want to talk to him!” he snapped._

“Wow, Hap, that was very honest.” Tony’s eyebrows were arched in surprise. “So you’re afraid of the big bad pirate, huh? _Fair, _but I’m surprised to hear you admit it.”

“It’s Peter,” he replied, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did for him, but when Tony only stared at him confusedly, he gave a halfhearted shrug and said, “It’s easy to talk to Peter. Plus, I trust him.”

(No one noticed Peter’s shy, pleased smile.)

(No one noticed Fury’s disgruntled, narrow-eyed expression, either.)

_Peter narrowed his eyes at Happy suspiciously. “Well, why don’t _you_ want to talk to him?”_

_“Because I’m scared!” Happy answered in a rush, words jumbled together and barely coherent. It took him a moment to realize his own words, but when he did, he flushed starkly. He shook it off and said, almost pleadingly, “Just answer the phone!”_

_Peter didn’t deign to reply verbally to that. Instead, his only response was to hold up his phone and, without breaking eye-contact for even a moment, firmly decline the call._

Tony couldn’t help it: he started upright as he saw Peter’s remorseless expression, shoulders convulsing with breathless laughter. “Did you just – oh, geez, _you did. _You totally hung up on Nick Fury. You just made my day, kid,” he told Peter, grinning. “That was a treat.”

Rhodey shook his head incredulously. “You really are Tony’s mini-me, huh, Peter?” he said.

The Tony from 2012 looked stunned, but didn’t make an effort to deny it, looking back up at the screen with a contemplative hum. Rhodey didn’t bother to explain himself or retract his statement, merely following Tony’s gaze to the Peter on the screen.

In EDITH’s footage, Peter looked completely unrepentant as he stared Happy down, phone still boldly showing the declined call. It was a move so completely reminiscent of Tony Stark—so emulative of the trademark Stark Audacity-with-a-capital-A—that Rhodey found himself understanding _exactly _what his Tony saw in Peter Parker: all of his good traits, his intelligence and his wit and his boldness, but without the cynicism forged from years filled to the brim with betrayal and deceit.

_You’ll like him, honeybear, _Tony had once told him, before he’d ever even introduced Rhodey to “his kid.” _Really, you will. He reminds me of myself, only—_

Unable to help himself, Rhodey had interrupted Tony with a snort. _You’re telling me I’m going to have to deal with another you? _he’d teased. _I think one Tony Stark is enough._

Rhodey had just been joking, of course, but Tony had taken offense anyway, his eyes slanting into an irritated glare_. You didn’t let me finish, platypus. I was about to say: he reminds me of myself, only better. _There had been no shame, no uncertainty, in Tony’s voice. He’d sounded soft, _tender_—Rhodey would go so far as to call his tone _loving_, even. And _his eyes_ – his eyes had twinkled with pride; a pride that had gleamed brighter than the north star in a midnight sky.

And then, quietly, with more surety than Rhodey had _ever _thought possible coming from his distrustful best friend, Tony had added: _He’s going to be the best of us._

And Rhodey had believed him. It would have been impossible _not_ to, when Tony had looked at him like _that—_with utter conviction.

Peter, meanwhile, blanched, shaken by Rhodey’s declaration. _Tony’s mini-me. _Beyond the words, there was something about the quality of Rhodey’s voice—perhaps a hint of confidence, of expectation—that chilled Peter to the core. For some reason, Rhodey seemed to genuinely _believe _his own words. Rhodey _believed _Peter could one day measure up to Tony Stark’s legacy.

Peter didn’t; rather, he _couldn’t _believe it. (As far as he was concerned, no one matched up to Anthony Edwards Stark.) Unsettled, Peter looked away, overwhelmed by Rhodey’s assuredness (and the hint of _Tony’s _assuredness that carried through in his best friend’s presence; even from beyond the grave, Tony’s faith in him lived on and it _killed Peter_), pretending he wasn’t affected by the barely-there _pride _brimming in both Rhodey’s and Tony’s gaze.

_Happy all but choked. “You sent Nick Fury to _voicemail_!?” he hissed, appropriately horrified, as his face contorted into an expression that was half-grimace, half-gawk._

Fury looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. _I can’t believe this is what my life will come to, _he lamented. _The Director of SHIELD, chasing after a prepubescent teenager who dodges his calls. How glorious._

“The Great Nick Fury,” Maria teased. Clearly, she had no sympathy for his troubles. “Oh, how the mighty has fallen.”

“Watch yourself. I still _own_ your ass, Hill,” he threatened, but she remained unperturbed—if anything, the broadening of her smirk indicated she was all too pleased with this turn of events—well aware that the warning came without any heat. Truthfully, even as he grumbled appropriately in response to Peter’s onscreen disregard for his station, he found himself begrudgingly charmed by this boy, who seemed to simultaneously possess great power—if this charity event’s favorable turnout was any indication—and yet be uncertain of his own footing.

_Peter didn’t seem nearly as concerned as Happy clearly was. “Yeah,” he replied carelessly._

_If Happy had been any less of a man, he would have flailed helplessly at Peter’s apparent indifference to his own actions. “You don’t send Nick Fury to voicemail!” he explained with a shake of his head and a groan that very loudly conveyed the fact that he thought Peter should already be aware of this._

_“Did you hear that?” Peter cupped his hand to his ear, pretending to be listening to something. He took advantage of Happy’s momentary confusion to point behind himself towards the curtains and make up an excuse: “They’re calling me. It’s—I gotta go. I gotta go.”_

_Happy was not amused. “You gotta talk to him!” Happy countered, voice practically a cry for help as he called out to Peter, who was already backing away._

_“I’m gonna call him,” Peter agreed. Without a word, a pair of metallic spider-legs emerged from the back of Peter’s suit, following the same color-scheme as the rest of his outfit. Peter didn’t even have to ask before the spider-legs were pulling open the curtains behind him. “I promise you, I’m gonna call him. I will,” he continued his reassurances, clasping his hands together._

“Wow, kid, you’re pretty good with that suit,” Bucky complimented, eyeing the way Peter’s spider-legs automatically operated to assist Peter with barely any prompting from Peter himself. He vividly remembered how difficult it had been for _him_ to control his metal arm at first; even now, the prosthetic limb still didn’t feel _natural _to him. There were days when Bucky woke up and immediately felt _heavy, _as if the metal arm was weighing him down instead of helping him achieve the guise of normalcy.

Peter made it look _effortless, _somehow. Even though it was the suit, not him, Peter still managed to make it appear as if the spider-legs were just another extension of him. He seemed accustomed to it, if nothing else.

“Moving the spider-legs, I meant,” he clarified, voicing his observations aloud. “It looks like it comes naturally to you.”

Peter hummed, looking back on his own movements with a critical eye. “It didn’t always,” he confessed. “The nano-suit is still kind of new. When I first wore it, it didn’t come naturally at all.” The first time the spider-legs had unfurled from his suit, mere seconds before he could be sucked into the vacuum of space, he’d been caught off-guard, unable to do anything but rely purely on KAREN to maneuver the legs.

It was only afterwards, with the terror of staring into the galactic abyss and believing he was facing certain death drumming in his mind, that he’d drilled it into himself to expect the unexpected. Since then, he’d managed to get more comfortable with the Iron Spider suit’s new functions, but the rush of fear never quite faded.

“How long have you had the suit?” Bucky asked curiously.

The smile faltered on Peter’s face, and even before he could say anything, Bucky had a sinking feeling his answer had to do with Thanos. Sure enough, Peter replied stiltedly, “I received it the day Thanos invaded.”

_“You do _not_ ghost Nick Fury!” Happy hollered after him._

_“I promise you! I’ll call him!” Peter stepped backwards, past the threshold, and his spider-legs yanked the curtains closed in front of him, effectively separating him from Happy. Peter turned away with a relieved sigh and whispered to himself, “_After_ my trip.” With that, nanoparticles rushed up from the neck of his suit, engulfing his face in his mask._

“Exploiting loopholes? Like I said: _Tony’s mini-me,_” Rhodey reaffirmed, seemingly to himself, but there was no way Peter could have _missed _the cursory remark.

Peter stilled, unable to swallow past the sudden lump lodged in his throat. _No, _he told himself. _He’s just thinking aloud. He doesn’t know what he's saying._

_Mr. Stark would have been appalled to hear the comparison, if he knew how badly I messed up. _Despite himself, despite his best efforts, Peter’s eyes watered slightly, _stinging _at the reminder of how disappointed his Tony would be in him. He’d been _so naive, _and it had cost _lives_.

He’d let SHIELD down. He’d let _his friends _down. (He’d failed Tony’s memory, too.)

_If you were good enough, maybe Tony would still be alive._

Peter clenched his fists. Rhodey had no idea what he was talking about. He was _nothing _like Tony. Even as Spider-Man, he couldn’t hope to be good enough to make his late mentor proud.

_“Hey!” Peter seemed to switch on his public Spider-Man persona with barely a second of thought, holding his hand out in a wave as he jumped up onto the stage. Unseen, the audience cheered, drumming up a thunderous response to his reappearance._

_Back behind the curtains, Happy pulled out his own phone from the pocket of his suit jacket as it began to ring, a resigned look on his face. “Yeah?” he answered the phone, cradling it to his ear. “No, no, he’s not ghosting you,” he denied as he walked away to the sound of the cheering crowds._

Clint howled with laughter. “Time to face the music, huh?” he asked impishly, waggling his eyebrows at Happy.

Happy, for his part, kept his mouth shut, though he looked _sorely_ tempted to flip Clint the middle finger.

_Onstage, the press was cornering Peter as Spider-Man. Reporters, camera-men and -women alike crowded around him, all clamoring for his attention as the sound of camera shutters surrounded them._

_“Okay, okay, one question at a time!” Peter called out, putting his hands up defensively in an effort to separate himself from the reporters._

_The reporters didn’t seem to hear his request—or if they did, they simply refused to heed it—and eventually, overwhelmed by the ruckus, Peter was forced to point at one of them._

“What the fuck?” Happy was fuming. “Do they have _no_ sense of fucking _decency_—”

“Whoa, Hap, chill,” Rhodey laughed lightly. “I’m glad you’ve decided to emulate an overprotective mother hen, but if Peter can go out as Spider-Man and fight crime, I’m pretty sure he can handle a bunch of reporters.”

“No, he _can’t_,” Happy hissed, voice strained, as his fingers curled protectively around Peter’s forearm. He evidently didn’t find any amusement in the situation. “They’re going to overwhelm him. His senses have been dialed up to eleven.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right,” Rhodey said in realization, wide eyes seeking Peter. Peter, for his part, was looking at himself on the screen with a strange look on his face. “Oh, _kid_,” he sighed, concerned and heavy-hearted now, any room for amusement gone, “Tony told me about your sensory overloads.”

Peter shrugged helplessly, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It can’t be helped,” he said, with the resignation of men twice his age.

_The female reporter he pointed at, emboldened by his attention, shouted out her question: “Are you the head Avenger?” Though her voice rang clearer than the rest of the uproar, her words were still partially muffled by the din. The rest of the reporters finally hushed, the indistinct clamoring falling to a lull, as she repeated her question, “Are you the head Avenger now?”_

“Why would a _kid_ be the head Avenger?” Steve couldn’t comprehend the idea of it. “No offense, Peter, I’m sure you’re extremely qualified, but you’re still so _young. _Experience is a big part of the job.”

Peter didn’t take offense. Once upon a time, maybe he would have. But his time on the run had humbled him and opened his eyes to all of the worst parts of being a superhero—of being an Avenger.

Peter didn’t _want _to lead the Avengers. More importantly, he wasn’t ready to.

(_Most _importantly, he couldn’t think of stepping up as head of the Avengers—as _the next Iron Man_—without wanting to throw up. He didn’t want to see Tony be replaced, _ever, _even if it was by him. Maybe_ especially _if it was by him.)

“Well, if they see the Man of Spiders as a candidate for the next leader of the Avengers, there must be a rationale behind it. He must be extraordinarily powerful,” Thor reasoned, because Peter might _look_ young but Thor knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving—

“How old were you when you fought Thanos?” Tony asked, his voice quiet and hushed like the calm before the storm.

Peter hesitated. He’d been afraid of this. “Sixteen,” he admitted finally, grudgingly.

Tony sucked in a breath like he’d been slapped.

“Jesus,” someone whispered.

“Sixteen,” Steve choked, sounding like he wanted to throw up. “_Sixteen_—“

“It’s not a big deal,” Peter argued. “I know I’m still young, but… I _had_ the power to help, so I _did_. When you have power, it gives you a certain responsibility. A certain _duty_.” His Uncle Ben had always believed in that, at least. _He _believed in that. “_Someone_ had to step up.”

And. Well. None of them knew what to say to that, but Steve couldn’t help but feel like he’d _failed _this stupid, reckless, _honorable _kid.

_“Uh, no, I’m not,” Peter denied. He moved on to the next question, pointing at yet another woman._

_The next reporter leaned in closer. “If the aliens come back, what are you gonna do?” she demanded with a sense of urgency._

_Peter flinched, drawing back. “Does anyone have any _neighborhood_ questions?” Peter pleaded, looking more than a little overwhelmed. His request only served to reopen the floodgates: the clamoring promptly started up again._

_“Sean Wilford, _Queens Tribune_,” a male reporter called out suddenly, leaning forward. Peter leaned in as well, hoping that he would finally get a question he could adequately answer. But of course, Parker Luck dictated that Peter was never that fortunate, so instead the man’s question was one that hit home and hit hard: “What is it like to take over from Tony Stark? Those are some big shoes to fill.”_

“Oh,” Tony murmured, sympathy swelling in his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe. He knew _exactly _how it felt to be compared to someone else’s hero, and he wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen and give ‘Sean Wilford’ a piece of his mind.

His father was gone, but Tony would never forget all the times Howard looked wistfully at a portrait of Captain America or shook his head scornfully at Tony or mumbled about _if only Captain Rogers was still alive today_.

From what he’d seen, Peter didn’t deserve to be treated like that. He didn’t deserve to doubt his own capabilities—to feel like he, _Peter Parker_ and _Spider-Man_, wasn’t enough. To feel like he needed to be _somebody else_ to satisfy the world.

In fact, _from what he’d seen, _Peter was already so much _better _than him. Still a teenager, and yet he was staunchly determined to fight back against crime and violence in order to save the innocent and look out for the little guy. He had no obligation to do so, but he _did it anyway. _Without fail, Peter put on the mask of Spider-Man, took up the mantle of a superhero—even though it was an unappreciated one—and did _whatever he could _to make the world a better place.

Peter had only been _sixteen _when he’d faced Thanos. _Only sixteen, _and he’d willingly stepped into an unwinnable battle in an effort to save the lives of billions—trillions—of others.

Even if it came at the cost of himself.

_Peter doesn’t need to fill my shoes, _Tony thought—_knew_—honestly. _He’s already doing more than he needs to as his own hero._

_But Peter didn’t seem to agree with Tony._

_As Wilford’s words left his mouth, Peter _froze _solid. The question echoed over and over again in his head, like a broken record, as everything else became inaudible._

_Peter couldn’t focus beyond the ringing in his ears, or the tunneling and waning of his vision. He felt a little dizzy, and a little like he was going to faint if he stayed any longer._

“What the _hell_?” Shuri marveled. “I thought EDITH took the footage from satellite cameras and CCTV cameras. How did she manage to recreate the sensation of a…”—she hesitated, sneaking Peter a tentative look—“a panic attack or an anxiety attack? How is this even possible?”

“_I am an AI,_” EDITH reminded, video pausing and dimming temporarily. “_I also have full access to the AI in Peter’s suit—_”

“Hold on, does that mean _you’re _not in Peter’s suit?” Tony interrupted. “I thought Happy said I gave you to Peter.”

“_Happy is correct. However, in the event currently playing on the screen, Peter has not received access to me yet. In that event, Peter’s suit is housing another AI, which he refers to as KAREN. As I was saying—after communicating with KAREN, I was able to pull up Peter’s vitals during this moment, including his heart rate and blood pressure. With that information, I was able to piece together as accurate a visual representation of what Peter was feeling in this moment as possible._”

“Huh,” Shuri noted. “Interesting.” _And EDITH did all of that intuitively, without the need to consult anyone’s instructions. _Yet again, Tony Stark’s inventions had impressed her.

_“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go,” Peter choked out, backing up even more. He barely remembered to utter a halfhearted word of gratitude—“thanks, everyone, for coming”—before he made his escape. He jumped up before the reporters could react, shooting out a web and swinging himself onto a rooftop._

_It was only after the noise had faded that he finally allowed himself to relax, his mask disappearing as he fell into a crouch and rested his weight on the balls of his feet. Peter bowed his head for a while, breathing in and out deeply, while he fought to slow his beating heart._

_Finally, after he had regained his breath, Peter lifted his head and looked out onto the city._

_Oh, christ, _Bucky thought, his throat unwittingly choking up at the sight of Peter, so young and terrified and small on the rooftop. And in that moment, as Peter shielded himself from the rest of the world simply so he could take a moment to _breathe_, as the last of Spider-Man slipped away, Bucky remembered that the Peter Parker he was watching was just a teenaged boy. Just a _kid, _really.

And looking at this tiny slip of a kid, taking refuge from the real world, Bucky’s heart _broke _in his chest. _Kid, _he thought, the word pulsing in his mind, overwhelming all else. _Kid kid kid._ It reminded him briefly of the trigger words HYDRA had used to play him like a marionette, except this time, instead of _forgetting_, Bucky was buried under an avalanche of memories.

For a moment—the briefest of moments—Bucky couldn’t help but look at Peter and see Steve Rogers as he’d been _before_ the serum, _before _Captain America, _before. _Even then, when he’d yet to receive his enhancements, when he’d been but a _stick _of a boy, Steve had fought for justice.

As Captain America, Steve fought corruption in every HYDRA agent he vanquished, every alien, every enhanced criminal. As pre-serum Steve Rogers, Steve had fought corruption in the back alleys of Brooklyn, standing up to men twice his size until he was black and blue in the face. (Bucky couldn’t recall how many times he’d had to step in and save Steve’s ass from the bullies they both despised.)

The look in Peter’s eyes now—it wasn’t unlike how Steve used to look whenever Bucky patched him up and scolded him all in the same breath, like exhaustion and determination all at once, and a part of Bucky shattered.

_Why? _he asked himself, remembering vaguely Happy’s comments about how the Avengers hadn’t been seen in public recently—how they had _abandoned a sixteen-seventeen year old boy to fight crime in a ridiculous get-up. _He couldn’t _understand._

Peter had so much _fight _in him. Bucky didn’t know Peter very well, but he knew that expression on Peter's face like the back of his hand; Peter was _exactly _the type of kid who refused to give up. The type of kid with a heart of gold and an iron will and a desperation to take matters into his own hands—to make things _right_. The type of kid who would suffer in silence, shouldering the weight of the world all on his own without asking for help. The type of kid who would do anything to protect his city.

He was _good, _Bucky could tell. _Pure. _And he deserved _better._

How could the Avengers from Peter’s timeline—how could _Bucky _from Peter’s timeline—have just left him to twist in the wind? No aid, no back-up, _no nothing_. Bucky stole another glance at onscreen-Peter, looking so _lonely _on top of the world, and swore he wouldn’t let the same thing happen in his timeline.

_Peter’s phone buzzed in his backpack. He reached inside and retrieved the device, but didn’t bother to answer. The buzzing faded._

“A _teenager _is actively, honest-to-God ignoring the director's calls. God, this is fantastic. Hands down, the best thing I’ve seen in ages,” Clint cackled gleefully. “Peter,” he called out, grinning maniacally. When Peter turned to look at him curiously, Clint managed to school his face and say, with utter seriousness, “You are my _hero._”

Fury just sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

_Peter pivoted around to face the building to his left, only to find a mural of Iron Man staring back at him. The mural stretched out across the side of the building, immense and towering above Peter, a reminder of how Tony had always seemed larger-than-life. Peter blinked as he turned away, determinedly averting his gaze; EDITH’s cameras were advanced enough to catch the sight of tears as they stained his eyes red._

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice came as a whisper. “You okay, man?”  
  
Tony blinked back at Bruce. _Never been better, doc, _he wanted to say, but he didn’t quite have it in him to joke around right now. He shook his head – the thoughts _get it together, Stark _and _Stark men are supposed to be made of iron_ mingling in his mind – and opened his mouth, but no words left him.

He… he didn’t know what to say, he realized.

Maybe: _I didn’t realize people cared enough about me to dedicate murals to me. I didn’t realize I mattered that much._

Or: _I don’t know why Peter’s crying. I don’t know why he _misses_ me._

Or: _I’m not worth crying over._

Or: _The way he looks at the painting reminds me of how I used to look at my father: with complete admiration. He looks at the painting like I deserve the world. Like I _am _the world._

Or: _I don’t deserve his adoration._

Or: _I keep wondering how it happens. I keep wondering if maybe Peter’s Tony Stark has finally gotten the karma he deserves—the karma _I_ deserve. Some might say it’s poetic justice._

Or: _I’m scared. I don’t want to die._

“I’m fine,” Tony lied, instead. “Just admiring my likeness. The artist has really done Iron Man justice, don’t you think?”

Bruce looked to be at a loss for words. “I… Tony…”

“Well, _I _certainly happen to think so. Actually, I think Iron Man looks _very _heroic,” Tony forged onwards, ignoring the pinched look on Bruce’s face. “In fact, I might just have to commission a mural for myself when we get back to our own timeline.”

Bruce just sighed. Again, Tony ignored it, resolutely looking back at the TV and avoiding Bruce’s worried eyes. He was _fine._

He _was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a part of the last chapter, so I know we still aren't too far into the movie, but it felt like a good place to stop this chapter at. Hope you guys liked it nonetheless! Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> Also: if I manage to finish this quickly enough (which I aim to do), I was thinking of starting a series based off this fic where I will explore what happens in each of the timelines discussed here (e.g. what happens when the 2012 crew goes back to their timeline, how each group of time-travelers will use what they learned to try to conquer Thanos, etc.). And additionally, the 2024 crew will go back and deal with Peter’s fugitive situation with a new plan of attack (god bless EDITH).
> 
> It's still just a rough idea for now, so let me know if that’s something you guys might want to read in the future!
> 
> Lastly, if you've read my "Quid Pro Quo" fic, you'll know I’m planning to create a tumblr for this account, so drop your handle below (if you'd like) and I’ll follow you once I get that sorted! My tumblr will mainly be for updates about my fics (possibly previews), and for if you guys have any questions/suggestions for any of my fics, or if you just want to chat. I’m also open to accepting prompts from time to time if that’s something you guys want, so let me know :)


	7. Part III: What’s Up With the Water?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More footage depicting Spider-Man: Far From Home is shown. 
> 
> In which: Peter and his class arrive in Venice, and something about the canals seems... strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m alive! Sorry for leaving for so long, I’ve been busy with final exams and then with wrapping up the school year and finishing the last of my projects and schoolwork. I haven’t had a chance to get back to my writing until recently, but I’ll hopefully be able to update on a more regular schedule now that I’m on holiday. Anyway! Here’s another chapter for you all (extra long as a peace offering). I haven't had the chance to proofread this chapter yet (mostly because I just wanted to get it out as soon as possible), so apologies in advance. Also, shoutout to EternalKing on AO3, who suggested that I include one of the unused trailer scenes <3
> 
> Next chapter, we *finally* get to see some action, and the chapter after that, we’ll hopefully have a one-on-one interaction between my fave father-and-son duo. I can’t wait for Iron Dad to make an appearance :)
> 
> Lastly, I ended up making this work part of a series, as most of you mentioned that you’d be interested in future works detailing how each time-traveling group will deal with their newly-gained information.

_It was a new day. On Peter’s desk, Peter’s phone lit up, buzzing obnoxiously as an unknown number popped up on his cracked phone screen. Crouching in the middle of the room as he packed his suitcase, Peter lifted his head and turned around. He tipped the phone to look at the screen, but dropped it immediately after with a frustrated sigh._

_The buzzing faded._

_Stubborn, I’ll give him that. _Fury was begrudgingly impressed. Persistence was an important trait for all heroes to possess—an old friend had shown him as much—and he supposed it was a _good _thing that Peter seemed to have that in spades.

_If only we found out a different way, _he sighed, only a _little_ irked by Peter’s continued dodging of his calls. He had to admit that, at first, he hadn’t understood _why _his future self seemed insistent on bringing Peter Parker into the fold; surely, there were better options than a literal _child. _Truthfully, he _still _didn’t quite understand.

And yet it seemed that in the future, he was fated to doggedly seek the help of a reckless teenager bestowed with powers but little experience. Happy Hogan, at the very least, seemed to have faith in Peter’s abilities. Fury certainly hadn’t expected the ornery bodyguard to go out of his way to defend a _kid _so often.

He figured that was a point in Peter’s favor, if he’d managed to sway a hardheaded man like Hogan to his side.

Still, he hadn’t become Director of SHIELD by blindly trusting any hero who fell into his lap. (Well, there was _one _exception, he supposed, but Carol Danvers was _different. _She was special in every possible way. He wondered, faintly, what she would think of Peter Parker. Did she know him, in his future?)

(Oh, if only Fury knew.)

Until he knew more, until he could see for himself what distinguished Peter Parker, he’d maintain his doubts. He’d wait to make his own judgements—wait to find his own answers to the questions: why Spider-Man? Why _Peter?_

_Peter resumed packing for a moment before standing up, _lost_ in the middle of his own room; he looked as if the weight of the world might as well rest on his shoulders._

_“Okay,” he _exhaled _a heavy breath, though the tension never left him. For a long, silent moment, he didn’t move, looking uncertain. At last, he turned his head to peer contemplatively at his old Spider-Man suit (a different suit, lacking the sleek metallic nanoparticles of the Iron Spider suit he’d worn to the charity event) hanging in his closet._

“Peter…” MJ muttered, flinching at the world-weary look on her boyfriend’s face. She’d never deluded herself as to the harsh realities of the superhero life; she’d known, even before she’d discovered Peter’s identity, that most superheroes did not have the luxury of a _peaceful _life.

She recalled, briefly, a quote she’d heard a long time ago, before Peter had walked into her life and stolen himself a permanent place in it: _Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy. _Those words had spoken to her all those years ago, turning her bitter and mournful for reasons she couldn’t yet understand. It was only when Peter had stood before her on Tower Bridge, bloodied and bruised at the hands of Quentin Beck but still _blazing _with valor, that she’d realized, with _aching _clarity: _this is what they meant. This is what tragedy looks like._

That belief had only been reaffirmed after she’d become more and more involved in Peter’s life—both his civilian persona and his superhero one. She _knew _he struggled. She _knew _he’d faced unspeakable hardships. It was evident in every worry line on his face, in every tense _are you safe? _he murmured to her in the dead of night, in every curled fist and every anxious frown that met her whenever she video-called him lately. It was there in the tension in his voice, in the raised hunch of his shoulders, in the haunted look in his eyes.

Being Spider-Man had never been _easy _for him. Rather, _choosing _Spider-Man had never been easy; it had been the _right _decision, not the simple one.

But he’d never taken it back. He’d never given up on Spider-Man, given up on _Queens. _Even now, as the media besmirched his good name and the public rallied against him and the government hunted him down, Peter still refused to give up on them. Even if it meant he had to live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, MJ _knew _Peter would cling on to Spider-Man, to saving people.

It was simply the way he was.

She inhaled sharply. “Peter,” she repeated, wishing she was close enough to reach out and press her shoulder to his, to offer him a tiny slip of comfort amidst the weariness.

He turned to look at her, a curious look in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

MJ bit her lip. She fought back the urge to abandon all tact and ask, outright: _are you sure you’re okay? _Another part of her wanted to turn him away from the Spider-Man suit and insist: _you don’t have to be a hero all the time. _Instead, she swallowed her pride and tried to give him her most comforting smile—all too aware how _out of her depth _she was—as she said, “You’re not alone in this.”

MJ had never been the comforting type. All her life, she’d had only _herself_ to rely on. Even as her child, her unsociable behavior had been apparent; her grandmother used to shake her head and chide, disapproval loud in her tone of voice, _you need to let people in, Michelle, and stop driving everyone away. That’s no way for a lady to behave._

The thing was, MJ had never _wanted _to let people in—_before. _She had never cared enough to want someone to _stay _before; had never wanted to hold on to anyone.

This was different. _Peter _was different.

Peter and Ned—they were the first people she’d ever wanted to keep in her life.

Perhaps a hint of her longing slipped through her otherwise neutral demeanor, because Peter’s smile gentled at the edges, _warm _in a way Peter always was. No matter what, no matter how hard life kicked him down, Peter always had a smile for them. MJ hoped he never lost his optimism, his _faith _in the world.

“I know,” he said. “I’m fine, MJ. Promise.”

MJ shot him a look that properly conveyed _exactly _how much she believed his promise. (Which is to say: not at all.) He flushed, chagrined, but refused to change his answer, smile stubbornly plastered across his face. MJ rolled her eyes—_stubborn_ might as well be Peter’s middle name, for all the time he refused to accept their help whenever he was injured—but couldn’t help a smile of her own.

His response, vague as it had been, only further proved what she already _knew_: Peter Parker was just as heroic as, if not _more _heroic than_, _Spider-Man.

_Suddenly, his Aunt May interrupted him, stopping at the doorway of his room. “Hungry?” she asked cheerily, tossing a banana at him in offering._

_Caught off-guard, the banana smacked Peter in the face, who jerked backwards in surprise. He spun around in a fright, jaw gaping, only to find May._

Shuri burst out laughing. “The great Spider-Man,” she teased, “felled by a common fruit. If only your enemies could see you now.”

Peter closed his eyes in defeat and _groaned, _muttering under his breath, “Is this Embarrass Peter Day or something?” He shot the TV, and by extension EDITH, a halfhearted glare.

T’Challa huffed a quiet laugh, his regal facade having long faded, chipped away by the intense revelations of the day. _And it hasn’t even been thirty minutes of this footage, _he thought with a hint of trepidation. He dreaded to think what else EDITH—and their _future_—had in store for them.

For the moment, though, he buried the apprehension beneath an amused smile as he remarked, “Just be glad you don’t have a tech-savvy sister looking to document your humiliation for posterity.”

He was gratified to see his sister grin. “He has worse: an all-seeing AI,” Shuri pointed out, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now _there’s _a thought. An AI would definitely be helpful in helping me record any future embarrassing situations involving you. Imagine that: all of your blunders, recorded in HD, from _multiple _angles.”

T’Challa stared at her in growing horror. “I’ve created a _monster,_” he whispered, and she _cackled _remorselessly.

Despite his outward annoyance, though, T’Challa could only feel relief when he saw Shuri revert to a semblance of her usual happy-go-lucky self. He didn’t think he could ever forget the way she’d shrunk into herself in raw terror, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, when Peter had first introduced them to their potential doom. After that, he was just glad to see her _smile _again.

_This is what I fight for, _he thought to himself, remembering Shuri’s terror-struck _screams _as he’d faltered beneath Erik Killmonger’s blade at the falls, in a ritualistic fight that had occurred only recently but felt so faraway. _I fight so that I may see the smile on my sister’s face._

So long as he remembered that, he’d never stop fighting. He’d never stop _trying._

_May clapped her hands over her mouth. “So sorry,” she apologized through a bout of laughter. “I thought that you could sense that – with your”—she paused briefly, as if trying to remember the name, before settling on—“_Peter Tingle._”_

_Peter clearly disapproved. “_Please_ do not start calling it my Peter Tingle,” he entreated with a visible cringe._

_May said nothing to that. “So, what’s up?” she prompted, nodding in reference to the way she’d taken him by surprise. “You can dodge _bullets_ but not _bananas_?” she added skeptically._

Tony coughed and spluttered, disbelief and horror warring for dominance on his face. “You should _not_ be dodging bullets!” he objected with an indignant cluck of his tongue. “You’re a _kid_!”

“A kid with _super strength,_” Peter countered, a trace of fondness sweeping through him without his permission as he and Tony fell back into the familiar argument. “I can take care of myself!” Normally, this particular disagreement would annoy him more, but this time, he was too struck by the fact that even here—even with a _past _version of Tony Stark, one who didn’t have _his _memories of their time together—Tony still worried about him.

“Powers or not, you shouldn’t be facing _bullets,_” Tony insisted, adamant in his opinion.

Peter rolled his eyes, vacillating between frowning and grinning fondly. The end result was an expression that somehow resembled both a sullen scowl and an amused smile at the same time. “You sound a lot like my aunt,” he said, a touch too vulnerably. What he meant was: _you sound a lot like yourself. You sound a lot like you care. _“She’s always fussing about my run-ins with gunmen.”

“Well, of course she is,” Tony said, unsurprised. “I find it hard to believe that _any _parent or guardian would just be _perfectly fine _with their kid _staring down a gun._” He couldn’t deny the panic that ran through _him _at the thought of it: Peter, wide-eyed and _innocent, _selfless and _compassionate _beyond measure, trembling under the barrel of a gun. The image made him sick to his stomach.

He swallowed down the bile rising up in his throat, forcefully reminding himself that _you barely know the kid, Stark. He said he can take care of himself._

(If that was the case, then why did he _care _so much? Why did the thought of Peter bleeding out on some sidewalk in Queens make him want to _hurl_?)

_Stop. Stop it, Stark. Don’t get attached. _He shook his head and, in an effort to distract himself, latched onto a new realization: “Now that I think about it, how _did_ May find out about Spider-Man, anyway? I would have assumed that you’d try to keep her in the dark.” Tony might not know Peter personally—not yet, anyway—but he knew his _type. _He knew that look Peter's face took on whenever he stared at his aunt, recognized it as the _same _look he’d see in the mirror whenever he thought of the few people he cherished. Peter seemed to be exactly the type of kid to keep his two lives separate in an attempt to protect those he cared about.

(Tony should have known that no matter how hard he tried to keep Peter at arm’s length, Peter had a certain _way _of sneaking past even the best defenses. When it came to Peter, it was hopeless to try to stay _de_tached.)

“Ah…” Peter grimaced visibly, his cheeks reddening with shame. “I _did _try, at first. Long story short: she found out by accident. I… Let’s just say she did _not _react well. My ears are _still _ringing.”

The look on Peter’s face perfectly conveyed the pain May had inflicted on him (_read:_ his ears) for risking his life in secret. At the thought of Peter’s misfortune, Tony was not the only one who laughed boisterously.

“Well, at least she knows now, right?” Steve reasoned. “No good can come out of keeping secrets from family.” When Peter winced at that, Steve coughed nervously and tried to soften the judgmental comment: “And it looks like she’s accepted your alter-ego.”

Peter nodded with a noncommittal hum. “She understands,” he said, subconsciously offering the video-version of his aunt a grateful smile, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. Sometimes, he thought she was far more supportive than he deserved. Other times, he _knew _she was. And all the time, _regardless _of what he felt, he knew he could count on her to always have his back.

“She knows Spider-Man is, and always will be, a part of who I am.”

_Peter tipped his head back with a heavy sigh. “No. I just _really_ need this vacation,” he said, half-pleading though it wasn’t clear who, exactly, he was pleading to. He shook his head, and even that one gesture was laced with exhaustion. “I need a break,” he admitted earnestly._

Pepper swore her heart _broke, _aching for this kid who’d endeared himself to so many people already. Peter looked so _tired_.

Not for the first time, Pepper was painfully reminded of the fact that the Peter she was watching was, beneath it all, still just a _kid_. A kid with a heart of gold, who’d donned a pair of sweats and goggles one night and climbed out his window, determined to _make a difference. _Armed with nothing but a homemade batch of webbing and his own will, Peter had become a hero all on his own, trying to save the world one person at a time.

Through the haze of her thoughts and the memories of her fiancé staying up late and analyzing videos of a fifteen-year-old Peter Parker in bed with a worried furrow in his brow, Pepper heard a different Tony’s voice.

She glanced to the side and found Tony scowling, muttering under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like, _“If Fury takes Peter away from his vacation, I’m going to—”_

He didn’t finish the threat, but he didn’t need to. Everyone who heard him recoiled nonetheless; they all had overactive imaginations.

_May’s gaze softened, and she didn’t hesitate to step forward and wrap Peter up in a hug. “You deserve it,” she assured him, rubbing his shoulders comfortingly as she pulled away. “Yeah.”_

_She turned around and started to walk away, before pausing as a thought occurred to her. ”You know what?” May turned back to him, pointing. “You should pack your suit, _just in case._” She waited a beat for dramatic effect, and then added with a smirk, “I have a _tingle_ about it.”_

_Peter scrunched his eyes closed in obvious distaste. “_Please_ stop saying ‘tingle’, May,” he called out after her, but she was already gone._

MJ snickered. “I think it’s perfect. The Peter Tingle. You should get it trademarked.”

“Oh, _come on_!” Peter protested, sticking his tongue out at her in a childish outburst. “Not you, too!”

MJ’s lips tucked into a smirk. “It’s fitting,” she countered. “Think of all the _opportunities. _Next time you go up against a criminal,”—she resisted the urge to wince at the thought, comforting herself with the knowledge that Peter was too experienced to allow himself to get seriously injured by small-time criminals—“you get to say _my Peter Tingle is tingling. _Come on, Peter, I _know _you love your wordplay.”

“Calling it a ‘tingle’ is _embarrassing,_” he insisted, burying his head in his hands. “You have to admit it’s so much cooler than a _tingle_.”

MJ snorted. “Except, you know, when _it isn’t working_.”

Peter _groaned. _“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” he whined.

“Nope,” she replied with an unapologetic smirk.

Peter scrunched his nose at her, to which she only laughed. Staring at them with mild amusement—though he would never admit it—Loki inquired, “What even _is _the Peter Tingle?”

Peter’s face twisted as if he’d tasted something sour. “It’s _not _the Peter Tingle,” he asserted firmly, though the pout tugging at his lips undermined his attempt to sound authoritative. Ned and MJ both muffled a chuckle, and he promptly shot Ned a betrayed look. “Ned!”

“Sorry, Peter,” Ned said through a fit of quiet laughter. “I can’t help that it’s a funny name.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Ned, but reluctantly let the comment go. He shook his head and turned back to Loki, only vaguely aware that the rest of the room had quieted and focused their attention on him. “It’s one of the benefits of the spider bite. It’s like a sixth sense,” he explained to the room at large. “It’s a precognitive ability that helps me detect impending dangers in my surrounding area. Definitely comes in handy whenever I’m up against more than one person.”

“Hold on—_spider bite_?” Sam echoed in disbelief.

“Oh! _Right. _I guess I forgot to mention that,” Peter exclaimed in realization, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He laughed, embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. “That’s how I got my powers,” he clarified. “A few years ago—for me, at least, so excluding the Blip—my class and I went on a field trip to Oscorp.”

Tony balked visibly. “_Oscorp_?” he repeated for confirmation, the name leaving his tongue with obvious scorn.

Peter hid a grin. He was well aware of Mr. Stark’s distaste for the rival company that had endowed Peter with his powers. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We were touring the biological labs when a genetically-modified spider escaped its containment cage and, well, bit me. I was really, _really _sick for, like, a week,”—_understatement of the century, _Peter thought, recalling the agony he’d undergone during that week from hell—“when all of a sudden I woke up with powers.”

Unsurprisingly, that particular revelation immediately set Tony off on a rant about _safety hazards_ and _dangers to society _and _I should sue that stupid Osborn._

The others, on the other hand, focused on a different aspect of Peter’s story. “Powers, plural?” Thor asked, looking intrigued. Even from his position on the floor, twisting around so he could gaze up at Peter, he still looked every bit the God of Thunder. Somehow, he made Peter feel like _he _was the one on the floor, Thor towering above him.

Peter nodded wordlessly.

“What other powers do you have, aside from your… ah, _Peter Tingle_?” Thor queried, lips curling into an anticipatory grin. There was genuine _curiosity _in his eyes, framed by excitement at the prospect of a challenge.

Peter didn’t have the heart to correct Thor as to the name of his sixth sense. Normally, his inner fanboy would have gone _bonkers _over the idea of _the _Thor of Asgard taking interest in _him, _but today, he was just pleased to see Thor take interest in _anything at all_. It was such a stark contrast from the Thor he remembered—the Thor who felt he had little reason left to smile, much less _this _genuinely—that he couldn’t do anything but let it slide.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll see most of my powers over the course of the footage,” he hedged, a smile of his own tickling at his lips when the curiosity in Thor’s eyes _flared. _“My main ones are the sixth sense, super strength, and enhanced healing.”

“Oh, yes,” Thor nodded, “you mentioned super strength earlier.” He paused, and the smile broadened on his face. “How strong are you?”

Peter stifled a laugh. It was a breath of fresh air, to see Thor like this. To see the exhilaration—the innocent, unburdened happiness—in his eyes. _Well, I held up a warehouse building once, _he thought of saying, but refrained, all too aware that it was a sore topic for Happy, who still averted his eyes guiltily whenever the subject came up.

In the end, he settled on baiting Thor. “Maybe you’ll have the chance to find out,” was all he said in reply to Thor’s inquiry, half-teasing and half-serious.

Thor laughed at that, booming and exuberant. It was a laugh that sent warmth spreading through Peter’s chest—the same warmth he felt every time he went out as Spider-Man, every time he made a difference. _This is what Thanos took from you, _Peter thought as he observed Thor’s unrestrained glee. _Your brother, your family, your home. Your happiness. This is what I have been given the opportunity to save._

“Sixth sense, super strength, enhanced healing… Wait a second, what about your, uh—” Sam broke off, folding his third and fourth finger into his palm and outstretching his arm in a crude imitation of Spider-Man’s signature hand gesture. He made a motion as if to shoot something from his wrist.

“My webs?” Peter surmised, suppressing a laugh at Sam’s effort.

Sam dropping the hand sign altogether and clicked his fingers together triumphantly. “Exactly!” he said with a nod. “Your webs. Are those from the spider bite, too?”

Peter’s mouth fell open. Speechless, he _gawked _at Sam in disbelief. On his sofa, his three companions from his timeline _roared _with laughter—both at Sam’s assumption, and at the horrified look on Peter’s face.

“No, no, no!” Peter blustered finally, waving his hands frantically until his companions’ laughter abated. “Oh, god. _No. _The webs don’t come from _inside me_—that’s _gross. _The webs are from my webshooters. I developed a chemical formula that produces the webs for me. It’s all _science. _The spider silk is _synthetic,_” he insisted. “Definitely _not _natural.” As if to emphasize his point, a shudder ran through his body.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh. _Oh_! Thank god,” he chuckled. “That’s a relief.”

“Science?” Bruce chimed in, Peter’s explanation having clearly caught his attention. Beside him, Tony inched forward until he was sitting at the edge of his seat, clearly just as invested in the new topic. “Synthetic spider silk? I didn’t think that was _possible._”

“I… uh…” Peter stammered, flustered by the attention on him. Bruce Banner had always been one of his greatest heroes in science, second only to Tony Stark. He had no idea what to say in the face of _both _of them staring him down, wonder shining in their eyes. It was all he could do to squash the memory of _his _Tony Stark, hunched over a vial of his spider silk and marveling unabashedly. _You’re a genius, kid, _Mr. Stark had told him, fondness and _pride _thick in his voice as he’d squeezed Peter’s shoulder. _This is incredible._

“Peter’s a complete science geek,” MJ interjected, saving him—or possibly dooming him to more embarrassment, Peter couldn’t yet tell. “I’m not surprised to hear he manufactured the webbing all on his own.”

Bruce hummed. Tony tilted his head and stared at Peter as if truly _seeing_ him for the first time.

“Webbing, huh?” Natasha joined the conversation. “Well, you’re certainly dedicated to the spider theme. I’m curious to see how you’ll use that in a fight.”

Natasha smirked at him then, in a moment of almost-camaraderie, and Peter couldn’t _breathe _as he saw _his _Natasha, lips unsmiling but eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth, whispering conspiratorially, _Us spiders have to stick together._

And then, all too soon, the smirk faded into a mask of neutrality once more, and the memory dissipated along with it.

_Even after May left the room, her words remained, a persistent and niggling thought at the back of Peter’s head. He hesitated, looking over at the suit, before shaking his head decisively._

_“No,” he said firmly to himself, pulling the closet closed._

_One suit out of sight, his eyes then cut to the corner of his room, where the Iron Spider suit was charging in its glass cage. The nanoparticles of the suit were clearly not solid at the moment, fluctuating in levitation and interacting with each other in a flow of lights and colors._

“It looks like something from out of a fairytale,” Scott remarked eagerly. “Like magic.”

“Why a fairytale? Magic _does _exist in our world, you know. Technically, _I’m _magic,” Wanda pointed out.

As the two promptly devolved into a lighthearted debate as to whether or not Wanda’s telepathy actually counted as ‘magic’, Peter snorted in amusement and thought of sentient cloaks and glowing necklaces, mumbling to himself, “She’s right, magic _does _exist.”

Although, he amended, Strange would be downright _insulted _to have his “Mystic Arts” degraded to simple “magic.” He’d always resented the title of magician.

_Upon closer inspection, the audience could see that a sign with the warning “Iron Spider Charging, Do NOT Unplug” had been hastily stuck onto the wall behind the glass cage._

“Charging?” Shuri wondered aloud. “Weren’t you just using the suit for the charity event? How much battery life does the suit have?”

“Ah, I’m not sure—I haven’t really experimented with it,” Peter admitted. “But I went on patrol right after the charity event to, you know, clear my mind.”

“Going out on duty as Spider-Man _clears your mind_?” Pepper sounded distinctly amused. _He really is like you, huh, Tony? That’s a page straight out of your personal guidebook: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms 101._

Peter shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I try to patrol every night, if I can. Keep an ear and an eye out for any trouble. It’s part of my routine now,” he explained. “I don’t feel comfortable skipping it.” _Not when I have no way of knowing how many people would suffer in silence without me there. Not when there’s a chance I could save someone who doesn’t even yet know they need saving._

“You really do know what you’re doing, huh?” Steve asked rhetorically, almost as if speaking to himself. He couldn’t help but remember Peter’s introduction, and his friends’ defensive rant that followed it._ Spider-Man—Peter—makes a difference where the Avengers can’t be bothered to, _the girl had said, unwavering in her conviction. Happy, similarly firm, had echoed her sentiments: _The people need Spider-Man, period._

Maybe this was why.

“Can we… can we see it?” Steve asked, eventually. The 2024 travelers had a point, he realized. There were two types of heroes—the type that showed up only at major crises, and the type that showed up _every day, _whatever the crisis. From what he’d heard, the Avengers embodied the former type.

And, well, he couldn’t help but ask himself: _Is that really the kind of hero I want to be?_

Deep down, he knew the answer. He’d criticized Peter for his youth and inexperience, but he could see now that despite Peter’s relative immaturity, Peter _knew _what mattered.

Maybe he needed to stop judging Peter for his age and start opening his eyes. Maybe he needed to start following Peter’s lead.

Peter blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. “You want to see the patrol?” he asked.

Steve nodded. “If you don’t mind. I know we’re in the middle of EDITH’s compilation footage, but maybe we can watch just a bit of your patrol?” he suggested. “And then we’ll get back to the main footage.”

“That’s a great idea,” Clint enthused. “I’ve been wanting to see how you handle yourself in a fight. I’m sure Nat’s curious, too.”

Peter blinked again. “Uh, sure,” he agreed reluctantly, still a little surprise. He sucked in a breath and tried to expel the nerves gathering in his chest. _You’ve been Spider-Man for years. You have nothing to be nervous about, _he told himself firmly, drawing comfort from the memory of Tony’s unshakable faith in him.

_You have nothing to be nervous about, _he repeated, his shaky smile straightening out. Tony’s familiar smile stared back at him, proud and encouraging. _Nothing._

“EDITH,” Peter began, raising his volume so EDITH wouldn’t miss the voice command, “could you project a highlight from the previous night’s patrol on the screen?”

A pause, and then: _“Certainly, Peter. Accessing Baby Monitor Protocol now.”_

More than one person startled at the title of the protocol, and then abruptly doubled over laughing. “Baby Monitor,” Sam managed to say in between fits of laughter, slapping his knee uproariously. “_Baby Monitor. _Oh, god, that’s priceless.”

Peter outright _groaned_. “Oh, my god, _EDITH,_” he made an embarrassed choking noise, wishing a hole could open up in the floor and swallow him whole. “I completely forgot about that.”

“I didn’t,” Ned added unhelpfully.

Peter glared at his best friend balefully. “Why didn’t you _remind _me?” he complained.

Ned was wearing a shit-eating grin. “Because I wanted to see the look on your face,” he said, completely unrepentant. “_So _worth it.”

Before Peter could accuse Ned of treason, or something just as dramatic, Tony piped up, amused, “_Baby Monitor, _huh? Did _I _name the protocol that?”

Peter turned his glare on Tony. “You did,” he told Tony, sulking. “This is all your fault.”

Tony snickered. “Well, you _do _have a baby face,” he said thoughtfully, sending Peter a smirk. “I see where my future self is coming from. It fits.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Peter warned, half-joking and half-pleading. “At least _one _version of me should have the blessing of _not _having that name follow him around.”

Tony just laughed even louder, clearly not bothering to heed Peter’s expectant suggestion. He only cut himself off when a new video appeared on top of the paused still of Peter’s charging Iron Spider suit. Taking advantage of the silence, EDITH immediately began playing the short video.

_As the new footage started up, the audience immediately became privy to Spider-Man in action. Peter, hanging from two pillars on either side of him by his webs, quickly launched himself towards a man dressed in black, dropkicking him _hard_ in the ribs. Recoiling, the man dropped what appeared to be a gun as Spider-Man flipped in the air, releasing his hold on his webs, and landed in his signature crouch on the floor. On his mask, his eyeholes glowed a bright blue-white._

_Upon closer observation, the fight seemed to be taking place inside a fancy dining establishment, as cloth-lined round tables filled the background._

_The man, clad in a black vest, swung around to strike at Peter with a knife. Peter swiftly and expertly evaded, only for the man to follow up with another strike. Peter’s spider-legs assisted him at once, folding in front of him and blocking the blade._

_As Peter kept himself occupied with his knife-wielding assailant, multiple men appeared on the scene, automatic weapons in hand as they cornered Peter from multiple entrances. Round after round of gunfire filled the air, and the Peter on the screen reacted instantaneously, out of pure reflex; he was quick to fling himself into a backflip before beginning a series of back- and front-flips across the room, dodging the flood of bullets with an effortless ease that could only come from experience. At the same time, he shot multiple webs out of his webshooters, yanking the criminals around as he went._

“Oh, so _that’s _what you meant by webbing,” Clint remarked, eyes eagerly tracking Peter on the screen with no small amount of awe. Peter seemed to possess a natural grace Clint had rarely seen before, even in the circus and on the trapeze. Frankly, it was mesmerizing. After a particularly impressive somersault, Clint whistled and complimented, “Damn. Nice moves, kid.”

“Forget the webs, I’m more concerned about the literal _gunmen actively shooting at you. _I reiterate: you should _not_ be dodging bullets,” Tony groaned, his fist curling and spasming.

“I wasn’t in any _real _danger—not from them, anyway,” Peter defended. “Like I said, in my timeline, you coded dozens of safety protocols into my new suit. Beyond that, the new suit is pretty much bulletproof—one of the perks of the nanotech.”

Tony blinked, searching eyes returning to the screen. “Oh. Right,” he muttered dumbly, reevaluating the scene on the TV now that he was relatively assured of Peter’s well-being. On the screen, Peter carried himself with practiced ease, skill showing through his every movement. Peter’s every dodge was fluid and elegant as he twisted and _danced _out of the way of a hail of bullets.

Despite Peter’s obvious competence, Tony frowned. Whether or not his brain knew the suit was bulletproof—whether or not logic told him Peter was _well protected_—his heart refused to listen to reason. He swore his pulse raced every time a bullet came close to nicking the kid. He shook his head and groused under his breath, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, kid.”

“I don’t know, Tones,” Rhodey hummed. “He seems pretty used to it.”

Tony glared at his friend, logic giving way in the heat of the moment. “That’s _not_ the point! He shouldn’t be _used to it _in the first place,” he snapped, aghast. “He’s a goddamn _child_. He should be – I don’t know – swinging on _monkey bars_ instead of swinging in the midst of a gunfight. He should be playing with _other kids _instead of criminals!”

Rhodey’s lips twitched the _slightest _bit as he fought the temptation to smile at Tony. This version of his friend had barely met Peter—this Tony barely even _knew_ Peter—but already his infamous overprotectiveness was rearing its head.

_In every timeline, _Rhodey mused, _in every universe, Tony inevitably finds himself wrapped around Peter’s little finger. My Tones would have done anything to protect that kid._

_How long will you be able to last before you’d do the same?_ he wondered to himself, eyeing this past manifestation of Tony Stark, right eye twitching every few seconds, fists clenched and white-knuckled, shoulders hunched and fraught with tension. Rhodey’s eyes followed Tony’s fretful stare back to the screen, where Peter Parker was handling himself with a grace that tended to flee him whenever he _wasn’t_ in a life-or-death situation.

_Not long, _Rhodey concluded finally, eyes glimmering with mirth as the fight scene continued and Tony barely managed to catch himself before he could call out Peter’s name worriedly. _Kid just has a way of sneaking into your heart._

_Eventually, Peter came to a stop, landing in a sitting position on an overturned table as all of his attackers were _hurled_ into the air._

_The fighting ended, and the metaphorical dust settled, revealing the criminals all hanging from the ceiling in cocoons of webs._

_“You going to be the next Iron Man now?” a policeman asked Spider-Man teasingly._

_“Well, no, I don’t have time—I’m too busy doing _your_ jobs,” Peter teased back. The policeman’s colleagues burst out into jeering laughter, and Peter amended himself, the grin still evident in his voice, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Look, keep up the good work because_ I_”—he backed away, pointing at them as if to say ‘I’m counting on you’—“am going on _vacation_!”_

“He looks so _excited,_” Wanda marveled, finishing the thought silently in her head: _like a little kid._ Hearing Peter’s untempered enthusiasm, she couldn’t help but think of another Peter, _hers. _It wasn’t the first time she’d realized their similarities since meeting Peter, but it _was_ the first time she allowed herself to dwell on it: Peter really _did _remind her of her brother—Pietro—young and eager, _lively._

Fueled by Peter’s resemblance to her brother, Wanda leveled a glare at Fury. “Nick Fury, if you _ruin _this for him…”

“You’d better not,” Rhodey added with his own glare. “He _deserves _this vacation, goddamnit. He’s given so much already.”

Peter flushed, embarrassed at the attention. With a shake of his head, he watched as the short clip from his patrol disappeared from the screen and the _Baby Monitor Protocol _was disabled. Everyone instinctively refocused on the TV as EDITH carried on with Project Freedom where they left off.

_Back in the main footage, Peter was staring down at his Iron Spider suit. He looked to be in deep thought, his fingers tapping contemplatively on the closet door._

Rhodey groaned. “Don’t do it, kid. Let yourself _take a break_,” he pleaded aloud, although he knew this had already happened and Peter couldn’t hear him. Still, he twitched anxiously as he chanced a glance at the Peter in the room. “_Tell me _you didn’t do it.”

Peter shrugged, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “You’ll see soon enough,” he said tersely.

Rhodey squinted.

Peter’s strained smile eased when he noticed Rhodey’s narrow-eyed glance. “Just _watch, _Rhodey,” he suggested with a chuckle, tamping down the tension vibrating in his chest. _You’ll be glad to see I _was _about to ‘let myself take a break.’ Not that it helped, in the end._

Rhodey harrumphed and turned back around in his seat.

_He jerked away with finality. “No,” he decided. “_No_, I’m not.” He turned back to his bed and slammed his suitcase shut._

“Oh, thank _god,_” Rhodey sighed in relief. Back in his timeline, he’d often been privy to Tony’s worries that Peter wasn’t allowing himself to enjoy his childhood and teenage years _nearly _enough. Once he’d realized how often Peter took to the streets, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’d privately agreed.

“Good,” Tony said decisively, echoing Rhodey’s sentiments. He seemed inordinately pleased with Peter’s decision. “You told us you patrol nearly every night, even though you don’t owe that to _anyone_. You _more than_ deserve to take a break every once in a while, to enjoy yourself.” _You deserve to have a childhood, _he added silently.

Peter mustered a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it. Internally, he couldn’t help but wonder if Tony would _still _believe he deserved that after he saw what else EDITH had to offer. After he saw Peter shirk his responsibility. After he saw Peter _fail._

He was _scared, _he realized. Scared to see how Tony would react; scared that Tony would condemn him for his inadequacy—his shortcomings, his desire to delegate his superhero duties and his gullibility.

_What will you think of me, _he asked himself, heart hammering in his chest, palms clammy with nerves, _when you finally see how much of a fraud I am? What will you think, when you realize I _don’t _deserve any of that?_

_In the next scene, as EDITH returned to the main footage, Peter slid open the panel covering his airplane window. He peered out of the window with a blissful grin on his face, looking for all the world like a giddy kid on Christmas Eve._

_Ned, seated beside Peter, tapped his friend’s shoulder excitedly, laughing. “Vacation, yeah!” he chirped. His head was decorated by a grayish blue fedora, lines of red, white, light blue and yellow circling the bottom._

_The blonde from Midtown High’s news segment, Betty Brant, walked down the aisle past Ned and Peter’s seats, waving at someone beyond the camera’s view._

_An adult donning a pair of glasses and a beanie trailed after her, looking around the plane curiously. “Do you want the first shift or the second?” the man called over his shoulder. “I can take either.”_

_“Give me the third shift,” another man, this one dark-skinned, replied noncommittally from behind him. He waved his passport at the first teacher in a dismissive gesture. “I took an Ambien.”_

“How responsible,” Clint remarked sarcastically, eyes narrowing. He certainly hoped that the teachers in charge of his own children exhibited a greater sense of duty. “Who’s he?”

“That’d be Mr. Dell, one of the chaperones,” Peter replied, cringing. “The adult who walked in before him—the one with the glasses—is our other chaperone, Mr. Harrington.”

_“Wait, I can't chaperone these kids alone,” Mr. Harrington protested, eyes widening at the prospect._

“Oh?” Natasha smirked. “Troublesome bunch, aren’t you?”

Peter immediately broke out into embarrassed spluttering as he tried to protest the (admittedly apt) descriptor. Ned hid a shame-faced grin behind his hand.

MJ merely smirked, completely remorseless.

_The camera’s focus was drawn away from the teachers’ conversation by another voice. “Yo, Parker!” a boy with tanned bronze skin and slicked-back hair called out from across the aisle, clicking his fingers to draw Peter’s attention to him. In his other hand, he held a glass of alcohol. “_This_”—he waved vaguely at their surroundings—“is called an airplane. It's like the buses you're used to, except it _flies_ over the poor neighborhoods instead of _driving_ through them.” He finished his condescending explanation with elaborate hand signals to act out “flying” and “driving.”_

“What the hell?” Tony frowned, immediately on guard. “Who’s _that _asshole?”

“_Language, _Tony,” Steve scolded, straightening in his seat as if finally remembering his usual stance on coarse language. Even then, the reprimand sounded halfhearted, as if he was only reciting from a script. His focus was elsewhere—his brows were furrowed as he stared at the newcomer on the screen, who carried himself with all the pomp of a spoiled rich kid.

_Another bully, _he thought to himself with disdain. _Yet another thing that hasn’t changed in seventy years. _If there was _one_ thing Steve Rogers despised, it was bullies—whether those bullies chose to take advantage of an innocent child or terrorize people on a grander scale.

“Don’t _language _me,” Tony hissed, sounding just as resentful as Steve privately felt. And then, as if to spite Steve, he reiterated his question, using even more vulgar language, “Who the _fuck _is that?”

This time, Steve forwent the censure.

“_That _would be Eugene Thompson, though he goes by Flash,” MJ answered wryly, nodding at the tanned boy with an unreadable look on her face. She left it at that, refraining from adding any commentary about Flash’s character. As much as she wanted to condemn him, she _also _remembered being trapped with Flash (and Ned, Betty and Happy), facing certain death. She remembered the insecurity in Flash’s voice as he’d admitted to making videos only so people would like him; she remembered _empathizing _with Flash.

Flash was complicated. He probably always _would be _complicated. But, at the very least, he wasn’t the two-dimensional bully she used to see him as.

Tony, however, didn’t know that. “_Flash_?” he repeated, the name leaving him like acid on his tongue.

“Well, if my parents named me Eugene, I’d choose to go by another name, too—although Flash isn’t exactly any better,” Clint joked tentatively, eyeing the twitching anger on Tony’s face with trepidation.

Clint was right to be worried, because Tony was quick to _scowl_, the expression deepening with every second they spent on the subject of Flash Thompson. “A pretentious name for a pretentious kid,” Tony sneered. He turned to Peter, the anger receding for a moment as worry outshone it. “Flash—does he _bully _you?” he demanded indignantly.

“No,” Peter lied. To be fair, it wasn’t a _complete _lie. _Well, he doesn’t _really_ bully me anymore, at least. We have… an understanding. _Some _sort of an understanding. _He didn’t fully know why Flash had backed off, but he’d never forget the day Flash walked into one of their Academic Decathlon meetings early after the Blip was reversed. Peter had arrived early, too, eager to impress MJ with his dedication. He’d _frozen cold _when he’d spotted Flash entering, a paper cup in his hands. They had been the only two people in the room.

He’d expected Flash to sneer at him and make fun of his studiousness—which would be kind of hypocritical, given Flash had _also _shown up before the allotted meeting time, but then again, Flash had never made much sense. He’d been _hoping _Flash would avoid a confrontation so soon after the Blip and walk back out the door. But Flash hadn’t done either of those.

Instead, he’d marched up to Peter’s desk, a determined look in his eyes, and thrust the cup—which Peter later discovered was filled with coffee—into Peter’s hands. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t bothered to explain himself, but Peter hadn’t needed words. It hadn’t been an apology—not quite—but it had been as close to one as Flash could get. A peace offering.

Since then, Flash had toned down his attacks on Peter. He hadn’t stopped _completely, _but his verbal abuse had stopped being genuinely hurtful and instead softened into something resembling friendly teasing.

Thinking of it now, Peter managed to smile. He missed his classmates—Flash included. “He doesn’t _bully _me,” he reiterated with a noncommittal shrug, hoping Mr. Stark would drop it. “Not _cruel _bullying, anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Are you _sure_? If he’s _hurting _you…” he didn’t need to finish his sentence for Peter to know that there was a threat hanging from the end of it.

“I’m _sure,_” he reassured, resisting the urge to roll his eyes—though he wasn’t _truly _annoyed. Beyond the mild exasperation, he was _surprised_—and, admittedly, warmed—by Tony’s concern. Tony’s explosive reaction was one he would have expected from _his _Mr. Stark. This Tony had no reason to care, had no reason to be so _invested _in Peter’s well-being, but here they were.

Mr. Stark had always loved to defy everyone’s expectations, Peter thought, a little choked. This Tony seemed to be no different, his eyes hard with unyielding anger—with a promise to exact revenge—as he searched Peter’s face for any sign of a lie.

It only made him miss his Mr. Stark more.

It was with this feeling in mind that Peter forced himself to laugh, lightheartedly enough to reassure Tony, and insist, “I’m _fine, _Mr. Stark. _Honest_.”

_MJ, who had stopped in the middle of the aisle in front of Peter and Ned’s row of seats, leaned forward slightly to call for a flight attendant. “Ma’am?”_

_A flight attendant promptly appeared beside Flash. “Hmm?” she hummed questioningly, angled towards MJ in return._

_MJ pointed at Flash. “He Blipped, so technically he’s _16_, not 21,” she clarified remorselessly._

_The flight attendant sent Flash a patronizing smile, reaching over to take the drink away. “I’ll take that,” she said._

_Laughter started up as Flash Thompson's eyes widened. He turned to the flight attendant desperately. “She's lying! I don't even _know_ this girl,” he called out, turning to chase after the flight attendant when she disappeared without giving him the time of day._

“Oh, my god,” Shuri said gleefully, looking at MJ with praise, “that was _great_. You’re a genius.”

“High praise coming from my sister,” T’Challa commented sarcastically. “She’s right, though—that was certainly a clever way of shutting him up.”

MJ looked excessively pleased with herself. She was even more pleased when Peter leaned forward, peered at her past Ned and Loki, and flashed her an earnest smile. “Hey, MJ?” he called for her attention, quiet enough that only those on their sofa could hear him.

MJ hummed questioningly in response. They weren’t alone, not by any means, but when he looked at her like that—eye-to-eye, like there was no one else in the room and all he could see was her—she could almost imagine that they were.

His smile swelled. “Thanks.”

A ticklish warmth unfurled in her stomach. She didn’t say anything in response—she didn’t need to—and only gave him a private smile in return. If they were alone, maybe she would’ve taken his hand in hers and whispered, a little too honestly, _Anything for you._

And maybe he would’ve squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips, gratitude and affection shining in equal measure in his eyes.

But for now, surrounded by an audience, MJ kept her silence and hoped her smile conveyed what her voice would not. For now, she pretended they were the only two people in the room and let it be enough.

_Once Flash had left, MJ turned around to face Ned and Peter. She looked at them with a smug smirk and tilted her chin upwards in an acknowledging gesture as she strode away._

_Another student, the same boy who’d featured in Midtown’s news program earlier in the footage—“Brad Davis,” if they recalled correctly—smiled at them as he passed by. “Classic MJ, right?” he chuckled, eyes sparkling as if he was in on an inside joke shared between the three of them._

_Peter was staring after Brad with a strange, weirded-out expression even as Ned grinned beside him. “Did you know Brad was coming?” Peter asked, hushed._

_Ned started to shake his head, the smile fading from his face. “It – it’s so weird,” he struggled to word his thoughts, voice a combination of uneasy and wonder-struck. The footage shifted to capture MJ and Brad as they hefted their luggage up into the cabin compartments. “Like, one day, he's that little kid who cried and got nosebleeds all the time, and suddenly, we Blip back, and he's totally ripped and super nice and all these girls are after him.”_

Scott swallowed, disquieted by Ned’s conflicted musings. He couldn’t help but think back to their earlier discussion about the strangeness of suddenly waking up one day to a class full of strangers; couldn’t help but remember Peter’s words, soft but sure: _It’s hard to stay objective._

Those words, and Peter’s trembling voice, came back to him now, as he listened to Ned recount his experience in a class that was all at once familiar yet foreign.

And for the first time since Peter had sat before them all, weaving tales of a massacre the likes of which Scott had never imagined possible (even in his worst nightmares), Scott allowed himself to think of his own family. Until now, he’d tried to push away the thoughts of those he’d left behind to fight the Civil War, unable to imagine his family wrecked by a tragedy of this magnitude. He hadn’t _wanted _to imagine it; hadn’t wanted to think of what would become of his family, his _life, _in 2024.

But listening to Ned’s hushed words, listening to the confusion coloring his voice as he spoke of a jarring Before and After where he hadn’t been given the chance to live through the In Between, he couldn’t stop the thoughts of his daughter from flooding in.

_Cassie. _His heart squeezed with with longing. He _missed _her. He wanted nothing more than to be back _home_, tucking Cassie into bed with an _I love you _and a kiss to her forehead. When was the last time he’d told her he loved her?

_Too long ago, _Scott decided.

He _ached _to see her again, to be able to hold her in his arms and hear her tinkling laughter. To see her smile and imprint it in his memory forever.

Without his permission, one of his fondest memories of his daughter swam to the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t help but think of the grotesque stuffed rabbit he’d given her for her eighth birthday, and the way she’d _lit up _at the sight of it, immediately declaring it her “best friend” despite its visible flaws. She would cherish its imperfections, she’d told him firmly, so young yet so mature and _compassionate._

Where would Cassie end up, in Peter’s future? Where would her story lead her?

Scott wondered, briefly, if Peter would tell him if he asked. If Peter would let him know if the Blip had taken her from a future version of him—or if the opposite had happened. If he begged to know, would Peter be honest with him?

…He wasn’t sure he _wanted _to know.

The thought of either—of losing his daughter or his daughter losing him—brought him more pain than he’d ever imagined possible. He just wanted her to be _safe. _He wanted to shield her from the cruelties of the world, to protect her forever.

_And I will, _he thought. _I have to. I don’t know what I’ll do if she—_

_No. It hasn’t happened yet. I don’t need to ask Peter, because it _won’t _happen. _(A part of him was still scared of the answer, of the _possibilities—_whether or not they would come true.) _That’s why we’re going through this. To write a better ending._

_Peter laughed nervously. “Not _all_ the girls are after him,” he said, protesting Ned’s assertions that their female classmates were all interested in Brad._

_Ned just shook his head again. “No, man, they’re _all_ after him,” he countered matter-of-factly._

_Peter turned frantically to watch as, a few rows down, MJ laughed at something Brad said as he helped her out. “Yeah. Here,” MJ said through a fit of giggles, relenting control over her luggage to him._

“Oh, _Pete,_” MJ sighed, shaking her head in amusement at her boyfriend’s keen scrutiny of her every interaction with Brad. Despite her outward appearance of mirth, however, a burst of affection burgeoned in her gut.

Peter was _pouting. _“EDITH, you traitor,” he accused half-heartedly, too busy trying to hide behind his hands to endow his words with any real heat. “How could you expose me like this?”

MJ couldn’t help it as her lips twitched into a pleased grin, trying to ignore the way she _melted _at the image Peter made, shy and covering himself from view. “Aww, Parker, you’re _jealous._”

Peter dropped his hands so he could properly scowl at her. “Can you _blame _me?” he asked rhetorically. “I had no idea you liked me, and Brad is, unfortunately, not unattractive. And Ned was _not _helping!”

Ned crowed with shameless delight. Ignoring him, MJ reached over—having to bend over slightly to bridge the gap between them—and patted his thigh comfortingly. “How hard was it to admit that Brad might have something going for him?” she asked amusedly. He pouted again and muttered a sullen _very_, and MJ honest-to-god _guffawed._

When he jerked his head away glumly as if to give her the cold shoulder, MJ’s laughter eased into a teasing but indulgent smile. “Oh, Peter, you had nothing to worry about,” she reassured, giving him another pat before straightening up again, retracting her hand. “I was too busy paying attention to you to give Brad anything but a mere _fraction _of my attention.”

She was a little embarrassed to say something so sentimental and downright _cheesy, _but she was rewarded with a radiant smile from Peter, so she figured the minor embarrassment was worth it.

_“_Anyway_,” Ned moved on speedily, unaware of Peter’s alarm, “on to more important things.” He pulled out his laptop from his bag. “It’s a nine-hour flight. We can play _Beast Slayers_ the whole time.”_

“You two are _adorable,_” Shuri told them seriously.

“I’m pretty sure nine hours straight of playing video games is _not _something to praise,” Bucky said, frankly unsure whether to be impressed or horrified. In the end, horror on out. “You need _some _sleep, at least.”

“Says the guy who claims he doesn’t sleep,” Sam snorted.

Bucky spluttered in protest. “That’s _different_!” he argued. “_I’m _different. They’re growing teenagers! They need the rest!”

“Whatever you say, _mother hen_,” Sam replied, singsong.

Bucky gaped at him, a red flush high on his cheeks. “Don’t be _ridiculous. _I’m just being a decent person,” he defended, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. Sam loved to be stubborn, even knowing it grated on his nerves. Actually, it was probably _because _he knew it grated on Bucky’s nerves.

Sure enough, Sam just continued smirking at him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s attempts to redirect his line of thought. Bucky begrudgingly let the topic drop with one swat at Sam’s shoulder, but even he couldn’t deny the overwhelming concern that bubbled inside him every time he saw the two teenagers in the footage. He tried to tell himself that it was only because Peter reminded him of a younger Steve, lacking his enhanced strength but just as determined as ever, but he knew that that wasn’t the reason. It wasn’t _entire _reason, anyway.

Peter was just so _pure _and _good_ in nuanced ways—in his simple desire to woo his crush, in his will to continue patrolling as Spider-Man despite the media breathing down his neck and looking for him to be _someone else_, in his carefree interactions with his best friend_._

Even before today—before Bucky had discovered Peter and Spider-Man were one in the same, when Bucky had only known Peter as the wall-crawling vigilante from Leipzig who’d had a tendency to run his mouth—he’d seen Spider-Man’s innocence and youth. Even back _then_, it had been painfully obvious in the way Spider-Man carried himself, practically bouncing with excitement to be standing amongst the Avengers. Bucky remembered, vividly, that Spider-Man had been the first to see his metal arm as just that—a metal arm, and an “awesome” one at that—when Bucky had only viewed his prosthetic limb as an inescapable symbol of his crimes.

Bucky couldn’t _help _fussing over Peter.

_Peter was barely paying attention to Ned’s plans, instead staring at MJ, who was sitting directly behind Brad. He turned back around, leaned in closer to Ned, and whispered, “I need your help to sit next to MJ.”_

_Ned sighed. “_Seriously_?” he deadpanned._

_“Yes, _seriously_,” Peter insisted._

_“What about our plan!?” Ned exclaimed, audibly dismayed. “American bachelors—in _Europe_!”_

_“That’s _your_ plan,” Peter pointed out, squinting. “That’s a solo plan.” Ned just stared back at him, exasperated, and Peter shifted in his seat. “Come on, this is _my_ plan!” he implored desperately._

_Ned turned to look behind him, presumably at MJ, and then turned back to Peter with an irritated sigh._

_“_Please_,” Peter beseeched._

_Ned sagged back into his seat with an audible groan._

Tony couldn’t help but laugh at Ned’s reaction. He couldn’t recall how many times Rhodey had looked at _him _like that—with utter exasperation—over the years. Watching Peter and Ned together, comfortable even in disagreement, unwittingly filled him with nostalgia for his college days, Rhodey a constant presence at his side despite the inconstancy of everything else.

It was easy to see why Ned and Peter were best friends, why they _fit _together. Even though Tony had only seen them onscreen together a few times so far, there was no denying the _ease _with which they interacted. There was a visible dynamic energy in the way they moved around one another. An effortless push-and-pull, a fluid give-and-take—two counteractive forces, like balanced scales, perfectly in tune with one another.

Their mutual devotion was obvious in the familiar way they conversed, seamless as they bantered back and forth; it was obvious even in the way they sat next to each other, bodies slightly tilted into one another like a pair of parentheses.

He snuck a subconscious glance at Rhodey, wishing it were his Rhodey with him, and found Rhodey already staring at him. Before he could get flustered and tear his gaze away, Rhodey’s face softened into a smile, and even though he knew better, Tony saw _his _Rhodey in that smile. It was the same smile he knew Rhodey reserved only for him.

He wondered if Rhodey saw the same thing he did, whenever Peter and Ned came up in the footage together. Wondered if Rhodey saw _them _in the two boys.

Something told him that Rhodey did. Tony clung on to that thought and tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping, reassured by the idea that even though they shared different memories, this was still _Rhodey_—Rhodey who’d stuck by his side through thick and thin, Rhodey who always backed him up even if he didn’t agree with Tony, Rhodey who supported him _without fail_…

Tony smiled back.

_EDITH’s footage captured MJ and Betty, settling in for the plane ride next to each other._

_“Hey, guys,” Ned started stiltedly as he walked up to them, ever the supportive friend despite his own reservations. “Uh, there's an old lady in front of us wearing a _crazy_ amount of perfume and… it's kind of setting off Peter's allergies?” He broke off into a nervous laugh, as if unsure of his own words._

“Perfume,” Natasha deadpanned. “_That’s _your story. _Perfume_?”

Ned went red with embarrassment at his own lack of finesse as everyone else had a good laugh at his expense. “I was thinking on my feet!” he defended himself.

They only laughed louder.

“I appreciated the effort,” Peter comforted, but it was undermined by his own visible amusement. “Even though it didn’t exactly work out.”

At the reminder of just how _poorly _the entire situation derailed and fell out of his hands, Ned found himself laughing as well. “Okay, I’ll admit, _not _my greatest plan,” he said begrudgingly.

On the other side of the room, Clint was nudging Natasha mischievously, “Aren’t you glad I’m your partner now? My excuses are _flawless._”

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, looking distinctly unimpressed. “I think you and I have very different definitions of ‘flawless’, Barton,” she drawled.

“At least they all worked!” he said defensively.

“Half the time, they only worked because the other party was too dumb to catch on, not because of any subtlety or craftiness on your part,” she retorted, enjoying his exaggerated gasp of betrayal a little too much. “And besides, he’s a _high schooler, _Barton. You were an _agent._ Are you _really _comparing your manipulative skills with his? _Real _mature.”

He waved away her criticism with nonchalance. “Oh, _hush,_” he dismissed. “Let me have my fun.”

Natasha snorted. “Classy as always, Barton,” she said sarcastically. And then, sidling closer to her longtime friend, she poked fun at him with a sly smirk, “At least he has all the time in the world to improve. You’re _way _past your prime already.”

His jaw hung open. “_Nat_!”

Natasha looked positively gleeful. “If nothing else, his enthusiasm is admirable. Genuine effort is an important part of any con, and for that, at least, he gets an A+,” she remarked thoughtfully.

Clint blinked, his mock offense dying down. “True,” he conceded. “His loyalty to Peter is commendable. Even though he clearly wants to be doing _anything else,_”—he grinned at that—“he’s still trying to help his friend out. Definite wingman material.”

Natasha snickered to herself.

_On the screen, MJ and Betty seemed to share the audience’s sentiments regarding Ned’s conspicuous deception as they stared at Ned with varying degrees of incredulity._

_“Um,” Ned continued to fumble clumsily for words, “you know, Betty, if you could just switch seats with him, that would be—”_

_“He’s allergic to _perfume_?” Betty broke in, clearly dubious._

Betty’s obvious skepticism sparked another round of rowdy laughter from the audience.

_Ned stared back for a dumbfounded second before he shook himself out of it. “Yeah, yeah,” he agreed quickly (a little too quickly), “because, um, it – it makes his eyes water, and he can’t really—”_

_In his seat in front of Betty, Mr. Harrington popped up and twisted around to pin Ned with a piercing stare. “Peter has a perfume allergy?” he demanded, evidently having eavesdropped on the conversation._

“Uh, oh. That’s not good. He sounds like he’s about to overreact and do something drastic,” Sam guessed. “I’m getting the feeling you _don’t _end up sitting next to MJ—sorry, sorry, I forgot, I meant _Michelle_—do you, kid?”

Peter gave a long-suffering sigh. “Not even close.”

_Ned turned, caught off-guard as he stared back at Mr. Harrington like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh! Uh…” he started shaking his head in denial, before aborting the movement and tilting his head, uncertain about how to proceed._

_“I’ll tell you from experience, perfume allergies are _no joke_,” Mr. Harrington said emphatically, yanking off his seatbelt and standing up. Beside him, Brad watched in confusion. “I can feel hives breaking out already,” he shuddered, clambering over Brad and into the aisle._

_Behind him, Peter rose to his feet with a start, looking on in horror as his teacher took charge._

“Oh, god,” Shuri whispered, fixated. “It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion. I can’t look away.”

_“MJ, stand up,” Harrington instructed, waving MJ over. She did so wordlessly. “Ned, take MJ’s spot.” Betty opened her mouth as if to protest, but Mr. Harrington carried on heedlessly, “MJ, you take my spot. Peter, come with me. Let’s get you out of there,” he prodded, urging Peter over._

_MJ offered Brad a halfhearted “sorry” as she slid past him and settled into the seat next to him, where Mr. Harrington had previously sat. Brad, for his part, was obviously unbothered, a satisfied smile on his face._

_“Zach and Sebastian, you take Ned and Peter’s seats.” The last of his orders taken care of, Mr. Harrington turned to Ned somberly. “Ned, thanks for bringing this to my attention. Your safety is my responsibility—and Mr. Dell’s, but he’s…”_

_Over in his own seat, Mr. Dell had already nodded off, snoring away in peace._

_Mr. Harrington shook his head in exasperation. “I got it for now,” he finished. “Let’s go, Peter!”_

“I… I have no words.” Clint shook his head in disbelief, torn between amusement, pity for Peter who’d only wanted to sit next to his crush, secondhand embarrassment at how Ned’s attempt to ‘help’ had turned out, and begrudging respect for the chaperone who was just trying his best to protect his charges (despite being misinformed). “I did not see that coming. That’s even _worse _than your original seating plan. Your rival for your crush’s affections just ended up sitting even _closer _to her.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peter grumbled.

Ned reached over and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “There, there,” he soothed.

Peter just sighed audibly, unable to get mad at Ned when the unintentional mixup had brought Ned and Betty together. Even though their on-again, off-again relationship was a turbulent one (were they _on_ or _off_ right now? He couldn’t keep up), Peter knew they cared about each other.

Despite everything else, Betty made his best friend happy. In light of that, it was impossible to complain, even if the mixup had left him with the misfortune of sitting beside a prattling Mr. Harrington while Brad was lucky enough to be reseated next to MJ.

_Peter stared after Mr. Harrington in disbelief. Mr. Harrington called out another _let’s go_ over his shoulder, and Peter bent over and slung his backpack onto one shoulder with a roll of his eyes. Reluctantly, dragging his feet, he headed down the aisle._

_Meanwhile, Ned warily (read: _awkwardly_) sat down next to Betty, who had her arms crossed in visible annoyance._

_“Yeah, I have a small bladder, so I took the aisle,” Mr. Harrington was explaining to Peter back in their row, plopping down onto the seat beside Peter’s._

Tony grimaced. “You are in for a _long _flight, kid,” he said pityingly.

“The _longest _in my _life,_” Peter confirmed, looking at MJ ruefully. She just rolled her eyes at his theatrics, completely unsympathetic towards his plight.

_“So…” Ned started nervously, turning to Betty, “did you wanna play Beast Slayer?”_

_Betty didn’t even pause to consider it, already shaking her head before he was even finished asking. “Nope,” she replied, a hard popping edge to her ‘p’._

_Ned nodded slowly, taking her rejection for what it was. Despite it, he still didn’t give up, oblivious to Betty’s impatience. “Have you.. have you ever, like, played any kind of PC games or—?”_

_“No.”_

_Ned nodded again. “Got it,” he said, clearing his throat as if that would help clear the awkwardness. Finally seeming to notice the irritation radiating off of Betty in waves, he sulked back into his seat and kept his mouth shut._

“Ned. _Ned. _That was _physically _painful to watch,” Shuri whimpered, fighting the urge to cover her eyes from the mortification of watching Ned flounder helplessly.

Ned just shrugged, hiding a secretive grin. He could admit that it had been _agonizingly _awkward at first, but he knew something Shuri didn’t. Now, as he looked back at the first time he and Betty properly interacted _one-on-one_, he could only shake his head, partly exasperated by his own clueless flailing and partly stunned as to how he’d managed to convince Betty to date him.

_The footage focused back on Peter and Mr. Harrington._

_“Did I tell you how my wife pretended to Blip out?” Mr. Harrington struck up a conversation._

“_Wha— _why would _anyone—_”

_He spared Peter a glance, but much like Ned first did, he seemed to completely miss the annoyed, frustrated look on Peter’s face that practically screamed _end me._ “Turns out, she ran off with a guy in her hiking group. We had a fake funeral for her and everything—well, the funeral was real because I thought she was really dead. Do you wanna see the video?”_

_Peter just stared off into thin air, brooding._

“_No,_” Clint gasped, “she _didn’t._”

“She did,” Peter confirmed with a grimace. “It… was not pretty.”

“Damn, that’s just _cruel,_” Clint said, his brows furrowing. He couldn’t imagine losing his wife like that—mourning her for five years, only to find out that she’d been alive and with another man the entire time.

“I agree,” Steve added with a frown. “Relationships end all the time, but _faking _your _death _to get out of one? Taking advantage of a worldwide _tragedy_?” He shook his head in disbelief. “A lie like that… there’s no excuse for that. She should have just communicated with him if she was unhappy.”

“People rarely do what they _should, _Cap,” Tony said knowingly.

Steve’s frown deepened as he drummed his fingers on his thigh contemplatively. Deep down, he knew Tony was right, though he wished things could be different.

_A few rows ahead, Brad and MJ seemed to be settling into their new seats far more easily._

_“Oh, I got a dual headphone adapter if you wanna watch a movie,” Brad offered to MJ, pulling out the aforementioned adapter. He waggled it in front of her like an offering._

_MJ considered it for a moment. “Only if it’s depressing,” she conceded, giving him a smile. “Or hilarious.”_

MJ quirked her lips upwards into a smile that was both disdainful and regretful. _Peter wouldn’t have needed me to tell him that,_ she mused.

She shook her head. _Too late for regrets, MJ, _she told herself sternly. At the time, she’d been satisfied with the plane ride to Venice as it was; Brad hadn’t gotten on her nerves, at least, though she felt uncomfortable now to watch his overt attempts at flirting.

But now, with the newfound knowledge that Peter had _prepared ahead_ for their flight together, MJ couldn’t help_ but_ regret. Hearing all of Peter’s plans—hearing his _excitement_—made her long for that flight that would never be. Sharing a dual headphone adapter with Peter would have been far more agreeable than it had been with Brad. Maybe with Peter, she would have actually _enjoyed _having to lean in close enough to feel his warmth, their tangled headphones tugging them ever nearer.

_Maybe next time, _she let herself dream. After they were done here, after EDITH executed Project Freedom and cleared Peter’s name, maybe they could have another chance. _Their _chance.

_“Oh, you have a dual headphone adapter,” Mr. Harrington noted at the same time. “We can watch together!”_

“_Jesus, _kid, what is your _luck_?”

“Parker Luck, Mr. Barton. Parker Luck,” Peter succinctly elucidated with a heavy sigh, as if that explained everything. To him, at least, it _did_—his Parker Luck was the root of everything: his fateful spider bite and the week of sheer agony that followed, his disastrous confrontation with his Homecoming date’s _father_ that left him bedridden and hospitalized for weeks, his trip to Titan that ended in his demise.

At this point, his life was so riddled with misfortune that Peter shouldn’t have even been _surprised_ at the outcome of his so-called science trip. Quentin Beck—_Mysterio—_was just another affliction in a long, _long_ line of trials and tribulations.

_“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain speaking,” a female voice sounded through the intercom. “Our flight time today will be eight hours and forty-nine minutes to Venice, Italy.”_

_As if on cue, the footage began to flash forward in time._

_In the next frame, the cabin was enshrouded in darkness, the overhead lights having been dimmed sometime during the flight. In the muted light, MJ and Brad were laughing together over the movie they were watching, colors illuminating their faces. From his seat behind them, Peter’s head shot up and he watched with obvious dismay as MJ tilted her head towards Brad to see the movie better._

Noticing the Peter in the footage observing her and Brad with jealousy, MJ silently extended a hand towards _her _Peter, even as her eyes never left the screen.

Peter blinked in surprise, catching the movement in his peripheral vision. When he saw her holding out her hand to him, palm upturned in a silent invitation, he hid a smile and reached out as well, pressing his palm to hers and interlacing their fingers.

MJ might not be as verbal as he was in terms of her feelings for him, but she’d never given him reason to doubt her sincerity or her affection. He didn’t _need_ words to know she cared; he could see it in the way she looked out for him, in the way she blindly reached out for him in the face of adversity, in the way she smiled at him—soft and sweet—when she didn’t think he was looking.

He could see it in her every action.

Peter wasn’t the only one who noticed MJ’s wordless action. Between the couple, Ned and Loki stared, dumbfounded, at the two’s clasped hands hovering above their laps. Without prompting, they exchanged a commiserative glance, Ned’s uncertainty about Loki fading in the wake of their shared experience.

Ned rolled his eyes at Loki, as if to say _can you believe them?_

Loki’s lips twitched.

Peter and MJ, for their part, seemed completely oblivious to their neighbors’ mild exasperation. As if in their own world, they ignored Ned and Loki both and stayed like that: holding hands in complete silence.

_Peter sighed silently, looking around dejectedly. Mr. Harrington was already asleep beside him, his head lolling to the side. Peter’s face settled into a frown, resolutely ignoring the slumbering man, as he turned to his own TV, shuffling through the movie options. On the first page, a movie with the title 'FINDING WAKANDA' immediately stood out to the viewers._

“Wakanda?” Bruce read aloud. “T’Challa, Shuri—didn’t you two say you were from Wakanda?”

“That’s right,” T’Challa confirmed, eyeing the movie title in surprise. “‘Finding Wakanda’, huh? I have to admit, I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” Shuri remarked. She was grinning, excitement almost _palpable _in the air around her. “We probably should have expected it, honestly. We _did _just reveal the truth about our resources to the outside world for the first time, after all—after keeping our wealth of Vibranium a secret for as long as Wakanda has existed. Still, it’s nice to see we’ll one day warrant a movie. Hopefully, the movie does our nation justice.”

T’Challa hummed in agreement. “We certainly have a... _complicated_ history,” he murmured, bowing his head as he thought of N’Jadaka, his own _kinsman _whom his country had failed. His own father had played a hand in turning N’Jadaka to darkness, giving birth to the vengeful wrath of Erik Killmonger.

Shuri watched her brother worriedly, deducing his train of thought with a practiced ease borne of years of familial history. He lifted his gaze and caught hers, giving her a reassuring smile.

She made herself smile at him in return, but inwardly, she worried still. She _knew_ that the flaws of their ancestors continued to weigh heavy on his heart to this day. Everything he did now, he did for the purpose of righting their wrongs.

If only he could see that he was _better _than them already. The moment he’d discovered the truth, he’d fought to make it _right. _He’d refused to turn his back on the outside world as so many before him had done.

And for that, Shuri would never stop being _proud _of him.

_Peter clicked through to the next page. The movie ‘Heart of Iron: The Tony Stark Story’ popped up, along with a brief description: 'A feature-length documentary that chronicles the life and legacy left behind by the world’s greatest hero, Tony Stark.'_

_Peter gazed at the screen with bated breath, eyes unblinking as though in an effort to stay dry-eyed. From the movie poster, Tony Stark stared back at Peter, looking solemn and grave, as if aware of the state of Peter’s world—resembling, more than ever, the futurist he liked to be._

_Peter shut off the TV without a word, finally blinking once in an attempt to pass through the sudden onslaught of grief. Giving into exhaustion—mental or physical, the audience couldn’t tell—he leaned back against his seat and crossed his arms over his chest._

From his seat in the audience, Peter blinked back tears as the phantom pain of stumbling across Tony Stark’s biographical film washed over him all over again.

Before he could succumb to the sorrow, he felt a sudden physical pressure keep him grounded. He looked down to find MJ’s hand squeezing his, changing her loose grip to a tight one that reminded him _he wasn’t alone_.

He inhaled shakily. Exhaled. Without a word, he squeezed back, silently conveying his gratitude. Steeling his nerves, Peter drew strength from MJ’s presence and tilted his head to stare at the next sofa over, where Rhodey had one arm around Pepper’s shoulders, providing quiet comfort as Pepper sat staring up at the screen, wide-eyed and trembling. She had one hand clasped over her mouth as she leaned her weight against Rhodey, looking like she might topple over without his support.

“_Rhodey,_” Pepper gasped, Rhodey's name interrupted by a fragmented mewl. “He... oh, god, _Tony. _He’s so _loved._” The audience reeled in the ensuing silence, and then: “I wish he could _believe _that.”

Rhodey, too, looked like he was barely holding himself up, the expression on his face broken and _wounded_.

Peter was almost too terrified to see how Tony himself had reacted to the prospect of a movie centering around his life. But the reminder that this was likely _worse _for Tony, who was no doubt caught off-guard, solidified his resolve. He took another deep breath, nerves settling for a moment, and dared to _look_.

Tony was staring dumbly up at the screen, looking like his entire world had been shaken to its core. Disbelief and incomprehension ran rampant in his unblinking gaze. He shook his head out of sheer denial. “N-No, that’s...” he stammered, heart in his throat. “Why would they...?” A forced, uncomfortable laugh made its way out of his throat, so _jarring _in its insincerity that Peter had to wince.

“That makes no sense,” Tony insisted, full of self-deprecation and self-loathing. For almost his entire life, he’d believed his existence to be a burden, a belief that had been reinforced by his father’s constant disapproval of him, his unintentional perpetuation of the cycle of violence through the weapons he’d built with his own hands, the ease with which his first mentor had sold him out to the Ten Rings—the ease with which _everyone _in his life betrayed him. Stane had only been the first.

His face twisted into a scowl. “What part of my life could possibly be worth seeing? The drinking, the women, the _partying_?” He scoffed derisively at himself, deaf to Pepper’s wounded protestations. He had always been the first to condemn himself; in so many ways, he was his own worst critic. “That’s _hardly_ role model material.”

“That’s _bullshit._”

Tony’s eyes widened. He looked sideways, tracing the voice back to its source, only to find that Peter had rocketed to his feet. The boy was glaring at him fiercely, eyes wild with hurt and chest heaving with it.

Tony stared. He didn’t understand.

Peter snorted, the air blowing out of him with force. His anger was _palpable. _“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but that’s bullshit,” he repeated, trying to express his opinions more calmly the second time around. It didn’t work, his voice still practically vibrating with offense. “I won’t let anyone, not even you yourself, insult you. Because you’re _wrong. _You _are _role model material, and I know that because you were _my _role model, and you were a _good _one. No one can tell me any different.”

Tony floundered for words. He didn’t know how the hell to respond to that, to this kid who seemed to look up to him _despite_ knowing him personally. _He _didn’t even look up to himself.

Peter shook his head, frustrated at Tony’s refusal to see himself as _Peter_ saw him. As so many others did. He clenched his fists, feeling alone and unsteady without MJ’s hand in his anymore. Still, he forced himself to soldier on, the image of _his _Mr. Stark, bruised and bloodied in their last stand against Thanos, in his mind. Mr. Stark had reinvented himself completely since his partying days, reforging himself into a hero of his own making.

Mr. Stark had been _his _hero. Had saved _him, _time and time again.

“And I’m not the only one who thinks that way,” he carried on, bolstered by the memory of Mr. Stark’s awed, reverential gaze and the crushing feeling of his arms around him, a battle raging all around them. _This is nice, _he’d whispered then, Mr. Stark’s smile pressing against the side of his head. And he had meant it; he had felt inexplicably _safe _in the warm comfort of Mr. Stark’s arms, even though he’d known—categorically _known_—they were surrounded by danger on all sides.

Mr. Stark always made him feel safe. He would be _damned _before he let anyone put his hero down.

“What – what do you mean?” Tony whispered, forgetting for a moment that he was surrounded by the Avengers and SHIELD representatives, people he’d fought to present a cocky persona around. A fragment of the truth broke free of his carefully controlled facade as he lost himself in his own thoughts, the uncertainty in his voice threatening to shatter Peter to pieces. It was barely audible, barely even noticeable, but Peter had watched as Tony lay dying at the hands of a cosmic force. It was hard to ignore any sign of vulnerability from Tony, after that.

Peter’s gaze softened. “I mean, you are a hero to _so many people, _Mr. Stark,” he said, hoping Tony could hear beyond the words to the _conviction _Peter carried inside him. “If you won’t take my word for it, then trust your own creation.” He gestured, movements sharp and precise, to the television screen. Conveniently, as if prompted, EDITH rewound the footage a few seconds, freezing the frame on a clear shot of the movie description.

Aloud, for all to hear, Peter recited: “‘A feature-length documentary that chronicles the life and legacy left behind by the world’s greatest hero, Tony Stark.’” He paused long enough to let the words sink into the thick, stifling silence. “_The world’s greatest hero,_” he reiterated. “That’s _you._”

Tony made an incoherent noise.

Peter sighed, the indignation draining out of him in seconds at the persistent look of denial on Tony’s face. He fell back onto his seat, heavy with sorrow at Tony’s refusal to believe in himself. To believe there was _good _in him.

“Just...” Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, incomprehensibly _exhausted _all of a sudden. “Look, I know you don’t really know me, but I know _you, _and I know what I’m saying when I tell you to please stop being so harsh on yourself. Stop _doubting_ yourself.”

Tony worried his bottom lip. “You... you look up to me?” he asked, so quietly Peter barely caught it.

“I do.” There wasn’t so much as a shadow of a lie in his statement, so forceful and _earnest _that Tony staggered under the weight of it.

He had no words to say to that.

(He wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn Peter’s admiration._ Peter’s, _a hero so selfless and compassionate that he took to keeping the streets safe _every night_, without looking for any reward. To Peter, helping people _was_ the reward.

If _anyone_ was a role model, it was Peter.)

_A few rows ahead, Betty was silently reading a book as Ned played his video game next to her. “Oh!” he exclaimed incoherently, adrenaline spiking as his fingers flew across the keyboard. “Oh!”_

_Betty turned to give him a slightly irritated look. When she redirected her focus to her book, looking away from him, Ned shifted to stare at her in turn._

“That could have been _us _playing _together,_” Ned lamented dramatically, giving a sigh that sounded so mournful it should earn him an Oscar. “I can’t believe you _left _me on my own, Peter. _Me, _your best friend, your Guy in the Chair!”

Peter just rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond to Ned’s theatrics. He knew that Ned didn’t really _mean_ anything by it—if anything, Ned was _glad _things had turned out that way, as his and Betty’s proximity during the flight had sparked their relationship.

More likely, Ned was simply putting on a performance to try to alleviate the somber mood after Peter and Tony’s heavy conversation mere seconds earlier. Indeed, when Peter shot Ned a questioning glance, Ned only winked at him knowingly.

Ned’s plan seemed to be working, too. At the very least, it appeared to have its desired effects on Tony, who relaxed minutely in his seat as Ned’s outburst diverted any lingering attention from him. Even Pepper and Rhodey lightened, the tension finally seeping out of them as Rhodey chuckled at Ned’s exaggerated imitation of a wounded puppy.

Peter let himself loosen up, too, giving Ned a small smile that he could only hope conveyed every ounce of his gratitude.

Peter wasn’t the only one who noticed Ned’s true intentions. “Nice work, loser,” MJ whispered, quietly enough that only those on their sofa could hear her, as she afforded Ned an approving nod and one of her rare real smiles, void of sarcasm.

Ned beamed back at the both of them.****

_The seatbelt light clicked off. Peter, one hand holding onto the hatch of one of the overhead compartments, slowly and carefully lifted himself into the air so he could avoid bumping into Mr. Harrington on his way to the aisle._

“_Damn_,” Shuri whistled, “that’s impressive.”

“You don’t even look like you’re _struggling,_” Scott said in awe. “How are you even _holding on_ to that? There aren’t any latches.”

“Oh, right. Just like spiders, I can, uh, stick to any surface,” Peter said, realizing he’d forgotten to mention that tidbit when he’d listed his main powers. He couldn’t believe it had skipped his notice. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but basically, the spider bite gave me thousands of new microscopic hairs that can easily grip surfaces with the help of friction forces.”

Bruce made an awed sound, gazing at Peter with eager interest in his eyes. The scientist in him was clearly fascinated.

The scientist beside Bruce, however, just facepalmed, barely taking note of Peter’s effortless show of strength as he was too busy focusing on Peter’s _recklessness_. “Jesus Christ, kid, you _used your powers _in an airplane full of _countless _witnesses? What a way to expose yourself,” Tony scolded with a groan and a shake his head. He couldn’t deny that his heart had _lurched _to his throat in an outburst of worry when he’d seen Peter carelessly risk outing himself. "How the _hell_ is your identity still a secret?”

_It isn’t, _Peter thought, grimacing. Aside from his own time-traveling companions, however, the others were still unaware of that—of the extent to which he’d _screwed up_—so he ignored that for the moment and focused on the rest of Tony’s reprimand.

“There was no chance of me exposing myself there. I knew everyone around me was already asleep,” he defended himself. “The sixth sense I told you about—it warns me about even the most minute of dangers. I would have _felt _it if there were any unwelcome eyes on me.”

“Huh,” Tony said eloquently, blinking dumbly to himself. “That’s helpful.” Despite his embarrassment at mistakenly accusing Peter of carelessness, he couldn’t help the unmitigated _relief _that saturated him.

Catching himself, Tony shook his head and frowned. _Why am I so worried? Why do I care? _he asked himself, confused and more than a little surprised by his reactions to Peter’s actions in the footage—or, more specifically, by the _intensity _of his reactions.

_He’s just a kid, _Tony reminded himself, lips pursed. He usually tried to avoid anyone below the age of twenty—maybe even twenty-five—at all costs. And yet, for some _unfathomable _reason, he found himself feeling for Peter, this _boy _who was both practically a stranger to him and _not _a stranger at all.

He didn’t _know _Peter, but somehow, some way, he felt like he _did. _He didn’t have any memories of Peter, but the thought of Peter was accompanied by warmth and familiarity nonetheless. It was a feeling Tony _recognized_, impossibly. It was a feeling of safety, of security. (Of _home_.)

It brought him back to mere moments ago, when Peter had stood up to him and _for _him, insisting that he was a hero. Tony had been so stunned that he hadn’t known what to say. It was rare that people defended him rather than attacked him, and yet Peter hadn’t even seemed to realize the magnitude of what he did. Peter defied every single one of his rules, his expectations.

Whenever he so much as _looked_ at Peter—whether on the screen or a sofa away—his heart _hammered _in time to an eerily familiar beat, as if to tell him, _you know this kid. You care about this kid. You love—_

Tony froze.

_What… what am I saying? _He swallowed, curling his hands into fists. _What am I thinking? I must be going crazy._

He expelled a shaky sigh. _Yeah, that’s it. That’s _all_ it is. I’m just tired, I’m thinking nonsense._

He didn’t know Peter. He _couldn’t _know Peter. There was _no way. _Peter was just a foreigner to him.

He tried to believe it. And a part of him did.

(But no matter how hard he fought to convince himself of that, _another_ part of him knew he was only lying to himself. That part of him knew Peter would _always_ be _more_ than a stranger, in his eyes.)

_Peter was still in the bathroom, washing his hands, when the seatbelt notice flashed back on with another ding._

_Like clockwork, turbulence rumbled through the plan. In his seat, Ned jerked slightly, instinctively reaching out to hold on to Betty’s hand. Belatedly, he realized what he’d done and turned to stare at her, mouth agape. He found Betty staring back at him, eyes slightly wide._

_Sheepishly, Ned looked away._

“Damn, kid, you move fast,” Clint teased, a shot of laughter lancing through him at Ned’s visible embarrassment. “I thought you were all for being a bachelor.”

“Come on, Clint, don’t be a spoilsport,” Natasha jumped in on the fun, her tone steely but her eyes warm with mirth. “Let him have his fun. He can be a bachelor when he’s back on solid ground. You know what they say—what happens on the plane, stays on the plane.”

“Thanks for completely butchering that saying,” Clint snorted.

Ned buried his head in his hands and bemoaned his luck, pointedly avoiding the spy duo’s joking glances. Two seats away from him, Peter dissolved into hysterical laughter, reminded of his own reaction to Ned’s unexpected relationship with Betty.

Clint raised his eyebrows, a silent question on the tip of his tongue.

Peter waved Clint’s curiosity away. “You’ll see,” he said cryptically, grinning all the while. _It definitely did not stay on the plane, _he thought to himself, snickers gradually tapering off.

_Peter waltzed out of the bathroom only to find MJ waiting outside. He choked, shocked by her presence, and abruptly ducked back into the bathroom, pulling the door closed as he went._

_MJ looked confused._

_Inside, Peter was frantically pulling out toilet paper and wiping down the sink counter and toilet seat. Unbeknownst to him, MJ had leaned in closer so that she could press her ear against the bathroom door, eyebrows knitted in question. Peter worked hurriedly inside, drying the surfaces and flushing the toilet a second time._

“Oh, my god, you _dork,_” MJ snorted. “_That’s _what that was all about?”

Peter muttered incoherently to himself, averting his gaze with an embarrassed sheen to his cheeks. “You’re going to hold this over my head forever, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” MJ said unapologetically, an almost _gleeful _sound accompanying the word. When he mustered up the courage to peek at his girlfriend, he found her smirking at him, completely ruthless as she took pleasure in his mortification. “Absolutely.”

_After making the bathroom ‘presentable’, Peter stood in front of the mirror, quickly combing his hair back with his fingers. He curled back his lips to scrutinize his teeth, checking to make sure he had no food caught between his teeth. After a second, he cocked his head sidewards and flashed his reflection a satisfied smile._

_The “occupied” sign on the restroom door switched to “vacant.” A second later, Peter opened the door and peeked his head outside._

_Except it wasn’t MJ that met his expectant gaze._

_He stared, dumbfounded, when he came face-to-face with a grinning Brad Davis, who flashed him the peace sign. Brad slid past Peter into the bathroom as Peter stood unmoving, expression shell-shocked._

“Oh, my _god. _Your face!” Shuri laughed freely, doubling over. She wrapped her arms around herself, her stomach aching with the intensity of her laughter. “You cleaned up for Brad!”

_Eventually, Peter returned to his seat with a sigh. He closed his eyes, determined to get some rest, but a second later, Mr. Harrington’s head dropped onto his shoulder with a rumbling snore._

_Peter cracked his eyes open in annoyance._

“Oh, Peter, you precious, precious child,” Shuri sighed to herself, the corner of her lip quirking upwards to shoot the trio of teenagers an amused, barely-there grin. “Your luck just keeps on getting worse, doesn’t it?”

“You could say that,” Peter agreed, sounding just as morose, smiling through the spike of dread. As awkward as this already was—watching himself fool around on the screen—he was dreading the rest of the trip even more.

What would the Avengers—his childhood _heroes_—think when they finally saw just how badly he’d messed up? When they finally realized that, _no, _Peter _didn’t _deserve to be called a hero, much less considered a part of the Avengers? As disillusioned with them as he’d become over the recent months, they’d still once been _his _heroes. His _idols. _He’d looked up to them from the very beginning; they were a very big reason he’d become the hero—no, _vigilante_ (he was a failure as a hero, no matter _what _Happy thought)—he was today.

And he’d let them down. He was a disgrace to the superhero community. He’d let himself be played by Beck time and time again, failing to learn his lesson even _after _Beck’s death.

How would the Avengers have handled the issue, in his place? Peter doubted they would have been as gullible as he had. Mr. Stark would have probably seen through Beck in an _instant. _Natasha, too. Even _Clint _would have probably dealt with Mysterio’s deceptions with ease.

Peter sighed. _I just can’t seem to get it right, can I? _He’d been at this for years by now, but he kept on making mistakes. No matter what, he seemed incapable of getting it _right _the first time.

He had never been worthy of Mr. Stark’s trust, of Mr. Stark’s _faith._

Peter bit his lip. “It’s all downhill from here.”

_The scene changed to the interior of an airport. 'VENICE, ITALY' flashed onto the bottom, right-hand corner of the screen, signifying that their plane had finally arrived at its intended destination._

_MJ and Brad were lining up together, and as MJ showed Brad something on her passport, Peter walked by, eyes fixated on them. He hurried his pace until he rolled to a stop in front of Ned._

_“Hey man,” he began urgently, “did you see Brad and MJ on the plane? They were watching movies and laughing the _entire_ time.”_

“I think he was a little too preoccupied with a different girl to pay attention to Michelle,” Sam said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Ned’s face instantly _flared _bright red.

_“Dude, don’t worry, okay?” Ned reassured, calm as ever. He was clearly used to being Peter’s voice of reason—although it had also become exceedingly clear that he could be just as unreasonable. He smiled comfortingly at Peter. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”_

_“Hey, babe.” Betty Brant sidled up to Ned. She was smiling openly at him, none of her previous annoyance apparent. “Can you hold this for me, please?”_

“Wait, what—?”

“‘_Babe_’?”

“_Holy shit_, you two _actually_—”

_Peter jerked backwards in visible surprise as his best friend smiled and replied Betty with a quick, “Yeah, of course.”_

_“Thanks,” Betty’s smile widened and she leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Ned’s cheek. She pulled away from him, but didn’t move any further, staring starry-eyed at Ned._

_Ned stared back, entranced. Finally, a few seconds later, Ned playfully bopped her nose with a finger. They both broke out into a shared giggle before Betty finally left._

_Ned turned back to Peter, who was staring in complete bemusement. “What was _that_?” Peter asked, taken aback._

“Uh, I second that,” Scott added. “I was _not_ expecting that to be the outcome of that plane ride.”

Instead of answering, Ned simply pointed at the screen, wordlessly telling him to _just wait and see._

_“Uh, well, we actually got to talking on the plane, and it turns out we have _a lot_ in common,” Ned explained excitedly. “So, uh, we’re boyfriend-girlfriend now.”_

_“Whatever happened to being an American bachelor in Europe?” Peter deadpanned, eyes squinting in disbelief._

_“_Peter_,” Ned started patiently, as if the answer should be obvious, “those were the words of a boy. And that boy met a woman. A very strong and powerful woman.” Ned nodded emphatically, awed, as he described Betty. “And _now_? That boy’s a man.”_

Scott blinked. “That’s... that’s very—”

“Wow,” Sam finished, deadpan.

Thor was nodding solemnly. “Wise words, indeed,” he supported, genuine where Sam had been sarcastic. “That is certainly the attitude of a man.”

Ned squeaked, wide-eyed. “Peter! Peter Peter _Peter_,” he hissed, bouncing in his seat, “did you _hear _that? Thor called me wise! _Thor_! _Prince of Asgard_ Thor! _God of Thunder _Thor!””

“I think he gets it,” Loki drawled, unamused as he very deliberately raised an eyebrow at Ned, effectively conveying his disapproval of Ned’s flagrant admiration for his brother. He was tired of hearing people fawn over ‘Perfect Thor’.

Ned wilted, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, Loki, I’m sure Ned will fanboy over you, too, if you compliment him,” Peter teased. “You’re a god, too.”

Loki inhaled sharply, speechless as he stared at Peter. He hadn’t expected Peter to see right through him.

Ned’s eyes went wide as realization and understanding filled him. _Oh. _Peter had always been remarkably perceptive, he mused, feeling a little guilty for his overexcited reaction to Thor’s offhanded comment when he was sitting _right next to_ Thor’s oft-overshadowed brother.

Peter nudged Loki gently. “And you know what? You have something Thor doesn’t—_you _can do magic. That’s _so cool. _I wish _I _could do magic. I mean, all _I_ have is super strength. And stickiness, I guess, but I bet magic would be _way_ more useful. Can you just imagine how many more criminals I could put away, if I could take them down with _magic_?” he gushed. “I bet it would be so much fun.”

No one had ever called Loki’s magic _cool _before. At best, Loki’s magic made him ‘intimidating’. At worst, his magic was seen as ‘terrifying’ and ‘threatening’. But here was Peter, completely unafraid and unashamed as he enthused about Loki’s _seidr._

It was... _nice_, Loki thought. He felt _appreciated, _for once.

“Thanks, little spider,” the Prince of Lies whispered, choked by Peter’s overwhelming sincerity. He pressed his thigh against Peter’s in an unspoken gesture of appreciation, mirroring what Peter had done after Loki had first relocated himself to their sofa. He found himself glad that he’d taken the chance.

_“Babe?” Betty’s expectant voice reached them from off-screen._

_“Coming, babe,” Ned replied instinctively, hurrying off to join her with only a backwards glance at Peter._

_Another scene change later, Peter was walking towards a security checkpoint when one of the TSA’s detection dogs trotted up to him, sniffing at his suitcase._

_Peter was immediately escorted to a station off to the side. The TSA agent hefted his suitcase up onto the metal table with ease._

_“There’s nothing in there,” Peter explained hurriedly as the security officer unzipped his suitcase. “I swear,” he added innocently._

_The female officer only raised her gaze to fix him with an unimpressed, unyielding stare._

_Peter snapped his mouth shut, lips pressing into a thin line as she pulled open the suitcase. Peter’s Spider-Man suit (the cloth one, not the Iron Spider one) glared back up at them both like an accusation, having been miraculously shoved in, lying messily at the very top of his pile of clothes. A Post-It note was stuck onto the suit, reading:_

You almost forgot this!! <3 May

_Peter stared down at the suit in horror, his jaw falling open._

Everyone in the audience seemed to be mirroring Peter’s gobsmacked expression as they took in the sight of Peter’s Spider-Man suit, sprawled on top of Peter’s clothes.

“I see what you mean by ‘Parker Luck’,” Clint whispered finally, transfixed. “I can’t believe your aunt put your suit in.”

Peter just shrugged helplessly. “She meant well,” he defended. _And in the end, it’s a _good _thing she put it in. I… she was _right_. Better safe than sorry. _“She wanted me to have a way to defend myself—_just in case. _Besides, it’s her way of saying she supports my identity as Spider-Man. Which is… more than I could have hoped for.”

_Slowly, Peter lifted his head, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find an explanation for why he had the super-suit._

_The woman stared back._

_Eventually, when no words left Peter, the woman shook her head and reached into the suitcase. “This, no,” she articulated, pulling out a banana and holding it out in front of Peter._

_The scene cut to an immense landscape painting of Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit sans the mask. In the painting, Tony was staring up into the sky, the sun shining behind him and casting a heroic—almost _angelic_—light on him. In the background, taking up almost half of the painting, the Iron Man mask had been shaded in, melting into Tony’s body._

Tony shifted, uncomfortable as he remembered Peter’s adamant defense of him. For some reason, Peter had believed that Tony was a hero—an _inspiration—_to many.

...the existence of a large painting of him in an airport in _Venice _seemed to back up Peter’s claims.

But that was _Peter’s _Tony Stark. What about _him_? Would _he_ ever deserve this? Would he ever be _good enough_?

Staring at the painting of him, Tony couldn’t help but feel _suffocated _under the weight of everyone’s expectations. Peter’s. He _wanted _the answer to be _yes_; he _wanted_ to be good enough, to be worthy of the world’s—_Peter’s_—admiration.

He didn’t think he ever would be, not when all he could see when he looked down at his own hands was the incriminating red of innocent blood.

_What will it take? _he wondered, desperately. How could he ever make up for his wrongs? How could he ever redeem himself?

It seemed an impossible goal, but... He snuck another glance at the screen, at his own face staring back at him, regal and _proud._

Was it really so impossible?

_The camera frame panned down to capture the sight of Peter hurrying through the crowds, occasionally mumbling a hurried “sorry” to people as he slid past them. He hastened his pace and finally managed to catch up to his group, panting, “I’m here. Mr. Harrington! I’m here!”_

_“Wait, wait, wait, Peter’s here,” Mr. Harrington waved Peter over frantically, sighing in relief. “Thank goodness.”_

“What’s up with that?” Bucky asked quietly. “He seems excessively concerned—you guys haven't even left the airport yet, after all.”

Peter fidgeted uneasily, feeling a little guilty as he remembered the worry he’d seen on his teacher’s face. “We were on a field trip when the Blip happened,” he answered, his disquiet obvious in the hushed tone of his voice. “Ever since, field trips have been… a sore point for us all. Mr. Harrington just doesn’t want to lose another student during a school trip.”

Bucky recoiled physically at Peter’s transparent distress, dropping his gaze with a murmured apology.

_After leaving the airport, the school group took a boat through the Grand Canal in Venice. As the boat drifted down the canal, the group truly fit the definition of tourists to a T, resembling overexcited kids more than ever as they snapped seemingly endless photos and videos of Venice._

Rhodey watched all of this in astonished wonder, starting to feel a little choked up. It was… _refreshing _to see Peter in his element: _smiling _and genuinely _happy. _(It was refreshing to see _a teenager_ happy, period.)

He hadn’t realized until now that he hadn’t imagined he’d get to see a group of kids this _unburdened_ again at all, not since the Blip.

_All the while, Peter gazed longingly at MJ. He only averted his eyes, embarrassed, when MJ looked in his general direction and caught him staring. Having dropped his gaze in embarrassment, Peter never noticed that the smallest of smiles slid onto MJ’s face as she considered him for a moment before looking away._

_Finally, their boat pulled up to the most dingy-looking hotel in the area. With scaffolding covering the front, the ‘hotel’ sign hanging unsteadily from a canopy, the letters already stained and faded._

“You’ve _got _to be kidding me,” Tony deadpanned. “_That’s _where you’re staying? _Unacceptable._”

Peter startled. It was a reaction so similar to how he imagined his Tony would react that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, we can’t _all_ be billionaires,” he joked. The statement was plainly blunt, and Tony had heard far too many people take offense to his excessive wealth, but somehow, Peter made it sound fond.

Fond or not, Tony scrunched his nose in shame. He’d have to send a _hefty _donation to Midtown High when this was all over, he decided. Whatever he thought _he _himself deserved, he knew Peter deserved _better_—definitely better than having to stay at a decrepit hotel on its last legs for accommodation, _at least._

_“Looks like we’re here,” Mr. Harrington announced. “They’re… doing some renovations to the place,” he noted as two construction workers made modifications to one side of the building. “Getting some upgrades.”_

“I don’t think anything short of a _complete makeover_ could make that hotel look even _remotely_ decent_,_” Tony huffed.

_“Oh, this is _trash_,” one student mumbled, voice muffled._

_“That must be the concierge,” Mr. Harrington said, valiantly ignoring the insult as he disembarked the boat. The rest of the group reluctantly followed suit._

_With a grunt, Mr. Harrington pushed open the door and walked into the hotel. “Everyone, here we are!” Taking in a deep breath, he looked around himself and absorbed the desolate interior of the hotel—which looked just as bad as, or even _worse_ than, the outside._

_On top of a table, a cat _meowed_, as if to agree with Mr. Harrington’s unspoken thoughts: _yeah, it’s not pretty, amirite.

_Mr. Harrington grimaced and took a tentative step forward, only to accidentally step into a puddle of water. He yelped and drew back as if slapped._

_“Whoa!” Mr. Dell immediately blurted out in response, stopping in his tracks. “Whoa, whoa, _whoa_.”_

_“Tell me we’re not staying here,” MJ’s voice drifted through as another student muttered _wow_ in a mixture of horror and dread._

_“Come on in.” Mr. Dell shot the students a reproachful look as he herded them through, shaking off his own disgust._

_“This place is _sinking_,” Flash noticed, his voice thick with dismay as he looked around himself._

_“I think you mean: _charming_,” Mr. Harrington corrected hastily, feigning enthusiasm despite the bleak expression on his face._

_No one bought the act._

“Sure,” Tony said skeptically. “If by ‘charming’, you mean that it should absolutely be shut down for failing to meet any reasonable hygiene standard.”

“We get it, you hate it,” Rhodey chuckled.

“It was disgusting, true,” Ned chimed in, “but also...”

“Memorable?” Peter suggested.

“Oh, yeah,” MJ snorted. “I won’t be forgetting_ that_ stay any time soon.” _For so many reasons._

_“It stinks,” Betty complained._

_“Okay, everybody, drop your bags off,” Mr. Dell announced as if he’d never heard the students’ grumbles, turning to address the entire group with a forcefully cheerful countenance. “We’re gonna meet at the Da Vinci museum at 3! Let’s go!” He made a circling motion with one hand, as if to convey, _get a move on, guys, roll with it.

_“Vámanos!” Mr. Harrington chimed in._

_“It’s ‘andiamo’,” MJ corrected._

_“Andiamo!” Mr. Harrington repeated after her, not even questioning it._

_“When you’re in Rome, you do as the Romans do. When you’re in Venice, your socks get wet!” Mr. Dell chirped._

“Sounds delightful,” Loki said sarcastically, looking appropriately horrified.

_The scene changed to Saint Marco Polo’s Square, birds fluttering through the air. As the students were given some time to relax and enjoy themselves before the first item on that day’s agenda, the next few moments passed by in a flash._

_“What’s up, Flash Mob, how’re you guys doing?” Flash cheered into his phone, holding up the device in front of him using a selfie stick. On either side of him, a woman in an elaborate gown posed for the camera. “I’m in Saint Marco Polo’s—”_

_Someone zoomed past, a fist shooting out and hitting Flash in the groin as they did so. Flash doubled over with a pained groan as the ladies tittered beside him._

“Ouch,” Rhodey winced.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, looking completely unsympathetic. “Serves him right,” he scoffed, Flash’s downright snobbish words to Peter still fresh in his mind.

“Tony.” Steve gave him a stern look that _reeked_ of disapproval. “Please tell me you’re not picking a fight with Peter’s classmate. He’s a _kid_.”

“A kid who deserved that and _more_,” Tony said adamantly. “Besides, I thought you hate bullies.”

“I do,” Steve allowed, “but Peter _said_ it wasn’t a big deal, and I’m inclined to trust him.”

Tony scowled. “Something tells me Peter wouldn’t tell us even if it _was_ a big deal. For _some_ reason, Peter strikes me as the self-sacrificial type who wants to deal with everything himself so he isn’t a burden—not that he would be one either way.”

“Like you, you mean?” Rhodey couldn’t resist chiming in, his words pointed and laden with meaning.

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but the only thing that left him was air. Speechless, he could do nothing but sit back as Rhodey added astutely, “How many times do I have to say it? He’s like a mini-_you. _Practically a mirror image.”

“He’s _better,_” Tony countered, finally finding his voice again.

Rhodey’s smile was wry. “My Tony said the same thing,” he said quietly.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath, once more at a loss for words.

_In another corner, Ned and Betty were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, getting their caricatures drawn. “This is so much fun!” Betty gushed, patting her new boyfriend on the arm._

_“Yeah?” Ned beamed back._

_The two shared an adoring, sickly-sweet look and chuckled together._

“You two are too cute for words,” Shuri laughed. “What about you two?” she grinned suggestively at Peter and MJ. “Did you two get a portrait of yourselves done, too?”

MJ rolled her eyes. “As if Peter would be able to sit still long enough for that,” she said knowingly. “He’d get distracted by food or something ten minutes in.”

“I would _not_!” Peter protested, mock offended.

“Don’t exaggerate, MJ,” Ned chimed in. Peter threw Ned a grateful look, until Ned grinned widely and finished, “It’d be five minutes, _tops._”

Peter’s jaw dropped open. “_Ned_!”

Ned just laughed, unbothered by Peter’s exaggeratedly hurt expression. “You _would,_” he insisted.

Peter sniffed. “Nice to know you’ve got my back, Ned,” he said, making a show of scooting away from Ned and MJ’s side of the sofa. He was stymied when Happy, unamused, shoved him back to his original position and told him, in no uncertain terms, to “quit screwing around.”

Peter sighed dramatically. “Everyone’s against me,” he lamented mournfully. When Ned continued to snicker away unapologetically, Peter huffed and said, “Well, it’s not as if _you’d _be able to sit still, either, MJ.”

MJ raised her eyebrows skeptically. Peter gulped, immediately knowing he’d made a grave mistake, even before she pointed out, “I spend half my time reading and _sitting still._”

Peter groaned, inwardly chiding himself for his own lack of forethought before speaking.

MJ shook her head, an amused smile on her lips, and said comfortingly, “Don’t worry. It’s not as if I’d ever want to get a cartoon of myself drawn.”

“Right,” Peter said with a sage nod, as if that made perfect sense. “Because god forbid you ever succumb to clichés.”

MJ grinned. “_Exactly. _I knew you get me.”

“Well, of course I get you,” Peter beamed and winked at her, cheesy enough that it startled a laugh out of her. He gave himself a pat on the back for that—he always loved making her laugh. “You're my person.”

MJ’s eyes widened. She found herself suddenly and inexplicably grateful for the low lighting in the room, allowing her fervid blush to go unnoticed. _God, get yourself together, MJ, _she scolded herself. _You’re Michelle fucking Jones. You don’t get affected by anyone, and certainly not by any boy._

It turned out Peter was the exception to that, as he seemed to be the exception to so many more of her rules.

MJ hid a smile, touched her broken black dahlia necklace through the thin fabric of her shirt, and affirmed, “I'm your person.”

When she glanced back at Peter, she found him gazing at her with open affection, his cheesy grin melting into a more genuine smile as if he could _see _the delicate glass petals of the flower pendant he’d given her. As if he could _see _her drawing comfort from it.

_You're my person, too, _she thought.

_Mr. Harrington, meanwhile, was trying to take a photo of himself. He set his camera down on the railing of a bridge, balancing it carefully, and took a few steps backwards before posing awkwardly. The camera beeped incessantly for a few seconds before taking the picture._

_Victoriously, Mr. Harrington reached forward and grabbed the camera, nearly dropping it as he fumbled clumsily. He sighed in relief when it settled safely in his hands. He scrutinized the picture, using one hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare, only to lose his grip at the last second._

_The camera slipped from his hands, falling into the water with a fateful _splash_._

“Wow. That’s just really, _really _bad luck,” Bucky said.

“I think you might have some competition for the title of ‘unluckiest person on the trip’, Peter,” Sam added.

_The footage moved on to a group of students who stood clustered together, all donning masquerade masks borrowed from a nearby stall. “Three, two, one… Say pizza!”_

_“Pizza!” the students all echoed in sync as the teenager at the head took their selfie._

_Elsewhere in the square, MJ was standing with her arms splayed out, pigeons perched precariously on her arm and shoulder while Brad snapped her picture._

_Surrounded by pigeons, MJ was smiling, looking utterly carefree and unafraid._

“My, my. You have no fear, Michelle,” Natasha said with a smile that seemed almost impressed. “I approve.”

MJ _stared. _Unlike Peter, she’d never been the type to outwardly fanboy—or, in her case, fangirl—over anyone, Avengers included. She’d certainly never succumbed to Peter’s hero-worship of Tony Stark. But this was _Natasha Romanoff. _The _Black Widow. _Growing up, Natasha had been _her _role model. She’d been in awe of Natasha, who’d proven herself time and time again despite being constantly surrounded by male heroes.

Natasha Romanoff had allowed her to dream and have hope in a patriarchal world. Natasha Romanoff had shown her that she didn’t have to restrict herself to the conventional roles assigned to women by society, she could be _anything_ and _anyone_ she wanted to be. _Natasha Romanoff _approved of her.

Too late, she spotted Peter _grinning _knowingly to himself, all too aware of the respect she held for the female hero. Scrunching her nose and twisting her mouth into a scowl, wordlessly _daring_ him to spill her secret, she turned back to Natasha and declared, “You. You can call me MJ.”

Natasha _laughed _at that, eyes dancing with something resembling triumph.

(MJ had made Natasha _laugh, _she thought to herself, a little in awe. Natasha was pleased because she’d been given the honor of _calling MJ by a nickname._)

The rest of the audience did not seem nearly as pleased. An audible groan rippled through them all. Clint, egged on by Natasha’s smug gibes, voiced his complaints aloud: “Oh, _come on. _What about the rest of us?”

MJ wiped the slightly—_slightly_—thrilled look from her face, whipping around to give Clint a completely blank expression that, despite its absence of a glare, made Clint shiver physically. “No,” she said ruthlessly, “you’re all not worthy.”

Clint promptly proceeded to sulk.

_Away from the crowd, Peter gazed on with a dejected look on his face, sulking over MJ’s interactions with Brad Davis._

“_Aww_, Peter.”

As the others cooed over Peter’s obvious dejection at the sight of MJ and Brad together, Peter’s breath hitched as he zeroed in on a man standing in the background, a hat pulled low over his forehead and a phone cradled in the crook of his neck. Despite the hat, Peter recognized him instantly: Quentin Beck.

Horror settled low in his gut. He’d known, of course, that Beck had targeted him for a reason—his connection to Stark Industries and, ultimately, Tony Stark. He’d known that he hadn’t been a _random _target, that Beck had _chosen _him. Eventually, he’d even come to realize that that could only mean that Beck would have had to watch him to make sure everything was in place for his plan.

But there was a difference between _knowing _subconsciously and _seeing _the evidence of it with his own two eyes. It was deeply _unsettling_ to see that Beck had been stalking him long before their first meeting.

_How long?_ he had to wonder. How long had Beck been planning his attack for?

“…ter. _Peter_?” MJ’s voice drew him out of his thoughts with a jarring jolt.

Peter blinked, trying to calm his nerves and wipe his thoughts from his face as he turned to face MJ. “Sorry, I was just thinking,” he excused, giving her his best reassuring smile.

MJ frowned. “You know I’m not actually interested in Brad, right?” she said. “I never have been.”

Peter scrunched his face in confusion. _Brad…? _He glanced back at the screen and immediately realized what she was talking about._ Oh! Right, Brad. _He mustered another smile and said, “I know. I mean, I didn’t back then, but I do now.”

MJ narrowed her eyes.

“It’s fine,” he lied, doing his best to hide his fear over Beck. He didn’t want her to worry about Beck before she absolutely had to. He knew that he wasn’t the only one still haunted by Beck’s actions—he knew she still felt his impact, too. Even though Beck was gone, even though he couldn’t touch them anymore, his death hadn’t erased the fear, the worry, the uncertainty. They’d both nearly _died, _after all_._ It was rare that either of them had the chance to truly _relax _nowadays, chased by Beck’s mark even from beyond the grave.

He’d seen MJ smile and laugh more today than he had in _weeks. _If reliving their trip, if basking in the memories they’d made with their classmates, could make her forget the tension even for a _little _while, then he wouldn’t be the one to remind her. (If he had any say in the matter, she'd never stop smiling at all.)

_The Peter on the screen, however, was unaware that he was being watched. Missing Beck completely, Peter walked away, heading towards a small shop sequestered away from the rest of the square. He entered the shop with a customary “Buongiorno!”_

_“Buongiorno,” the shopkeeper greeted back._

_“Hi, uh… I’m looking for a, uh…”_

_Peter’s voice faded as the footage skipped forward in time, focusing back on a necklace. “_Fiore Nero,_” the shopkeeper murmured in thick Italian, holding the necklace up to the light. Hanging from a delicate chain was a black dahlia flower made of glass. The pendant seemed almost weightless as it twirled slightly in the air._

_Peter took the necklace from the shopkeeper, lifting it reverently so the pendant rested at eye-level. The black dahlia flower was _gorgeous_, with a cluster of pearly beads nestled in the very center of a wreath of dainty obsidian petals. “It’s perfect,” Peter breathed in dreamy wonder, a shameless grin overtaking his face._

“Damn,” Shuri breathed. She’d never been one for jewelry—never been the type to fuss over her appearance—but even she could admit that the necklace was truly a sight to behold. “Nice going, Peter. It really _is _perfect. Especially because you’re choosing the black dahlia for its symbolism and its significance to Michelle. Meaning matters far more than appearances.”

“You can say that again,” Wanda seconded. Unlike Shuri, she’d never even been afforded the _chance _to care about dressing up, much less accessorizing. As an orphan in a war zone, and then as an _asset _living under HYDRA’s thumb, she hadn’t had much freedom in terms of her looks. For a second, she felt inordinately _jealous _of the Midtown High students, who were free to be _kids, _to enjoy an overseas trip to _Europe _with their friends at their side.

(She, on the other hand, had never been allowed to be just a _girl_. To be nothing but _herself_—no rules, no expectations, no nothing.)

And then, all too suddenly, the realization that they _weren’t_ free, that they were all imprisoned by their own demons—different from hers, but _demons_ nonetheless—crashed into her. Wanda’s eyelids fluttered rapidly, a hazy red mist bedimming the sight of the necklace on the screen.

Wanda blinked the red fog away. “It’s beautiful,” she added in a hushed, breathless whisper. She didn’t just mean the necklace.

Their compliments faint in her ears, MJ touched her necklace again, the misshapen flower distinct through her shirt. This was the first time she’d seen the necklace as Peter had bought it: whole and flawless, no signs of imperfection chipping away at it. ‘Beautiful’ was an understatement.

But as ‘perfect’ as the original flower seemed, MJ much preferred her version. _Her_ flower, damaged as it was, was a reflection of herself. Her life wasn’t perfect either, after all. Had never _been_ perfect.

Perfection was an illusion. Perfection wasn’t_ real_, and MJ _wanted_ real—with Peter especially. She thought of Peter standing before her on the bridge, smoke billowing all around them, the remnants of a violent battle itching at her peripheral vision. She thought of his hesitant smile and his stuttered _I’m sorry it’s broken, _of his lips on hers and her confession of _I actually like it better broken._

“I still like it better broken,” she whispered now under her breath, knowing Peter’s enhanced hearing would catch it. When she hazarded a glance at him and glimpsed the shy smile on his face, she knew he had.

_The footage skipped forward again. Moments later, Peter exited the shop and walked down narrow alleyways as he headed back to his classmates, holding a small golden gift bag in his hands. He was smiling giddily to himself, visibly pleased, when MJ unexpectedly came up behind him._

_“Boh!”_

_Peter jerked around in surprise, automatically holding the bag behind his back. “What?”_

_“_Boh_,” MJ repeated, jogging up so she was walking in pace with Peter. “It’s the most perfect word in the world. Italians created it, and I just discovered it.”_

_“What does it mean?” Peter indulged._

_“That’s the thing—it can mean a million things,” she explained, thrilled. “It can mean ‘I don’t know’, ‘get out of my face’, ‘I don’t know and get out of my face’. It’s the best thing Italy ever created,”—she paused, and then conceded with a laugh, “except for maybe espresso.”_

_“_Oh_, so you’ve been drinking espresso?”_

“Christ, this is almost as bad as watching _Happy_ flirt,” Rhodey whispered to himself.

Unfortunately for him, Peter had enhanced hearing, allowing him to easily catch the hushed remark. “Hey!” the teenager in question whined. “I am _not _as bad as Happy!”

Happy lurched upright and immediately retorted, “I was _not _this bad!”

“Peter, kid, your only redeeming quality is coming up with a thoughtful gift, and you haven’t even _given _it yet,” Rhodey deadpanned. “And Happy—_really_? Need I bring up your _Blip beard_?”

Happy cursed Rhodey’s name under his breath. Peter just huffed and muttered sullenly, “My _only _redeeming quality? I’ll have you know some people happen to think I’m _cute._”

_A man came up to them, holding a bunch of roses in one hand. Each rose had been wrapped individually, and he plucked one out of the group with his other hand and held it out to them in offering. “German? American?” he guessed. “A rose for you.”_

_MJ stared at him. “Boh.”_

_The man looked between them for a moment, a deep frown on his face, before he wordlessly walked off._

_“Whoa,” Peter mumbled, staring in awe._

“‘Whoa’, indeed,” Sam echoed. “Damn, Michelle, you are _terrifying._”

“Thank you,” MJ said.

Sam blinked. “Not sure I meant that as a compliment—”

“It’s a compliment,” MJ interrupted decisively.

Sam gaped dumbly. She refused to back down, eyes unblinking as she stared him down and practically _dared _him to challenge her.

Sam wisely did not.

MJ smirked, triumphant, and finally released him from her gaze.

Sam _shivered_. “Terrifying,” he reaffirmed to himself once he was sure her attention had left him.

_MJ sighed blissfully. “Boh is my new superpower,” she announced to Peter with all the satisfaction in the world. “It’s like the anti-aloha. I was _born_ to say this word.” She looked off for a second, mind wandering, before turning back to Peter and inquiring, “So, what’s in the bag?”_

_“Oh, uh…” Peter looked down at the incriminating gift bag he was holding. After an extended moment, he shrugged and tilted his head sideways, giving up on an excuse. “Boh,” was all he offered MJ._

_MJ raised her eyebrows, looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. “_Nice_,” she complimented, impressed._

_They walked off together._

“Guess you two really _do_ belong together, huh?” Tony teased.

Peter looked down and bit back a smile, wondering what _his _Mr. Stark would say to his and MJ’s relationship. Wondering if Mr. Stark would approve, if Mr. Stark would be _proud _of him.

He hoped he would be.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as pleased as Tony seemed to be about the recent developments showcased in the footage. “_Why _is this a part of the footage? What is the _point_ of watching a literal bunch of kids on their school trip?” Fury grumbled. “Not that this isn’t the _sweetest_ thing I’ve ever seen”—pure sarcasm dripped from his voice, audible enough that his neighboring agent muttered _laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you?_—“but don’t we have more important things to focus on? Like, say, that man in the cape and the honest-to-god _rock creature_ he apparently fought?”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy, Fury,” Maria dismissed, unfazed by his ensuing glare.

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression that we were all brought here to learn about a future threat so we can _better prepare ourselves,_” Fury said cuttingly, the thought of Carol Danvers fueling his rant. The memory of her sudden arrival on Earth, and the revelations that followed, had never left him. If Carol hadn’t turned out to be a force of _good, _SHIELD would have been _woefully _unprepared to face the might of the Kree Empire.

Better than anyone, Fury _knew _the importance of being well-prepared and well-armed.

“So far,” Fury continued, “I haven’t seen anything to indicate this threat except for a short five-second clip at the very beginning. _How _can we be expected to ‘prepare’ if we aren’t given any information?”

Maria sighed. “I’m sure we’ll be given information _in time,_” she said. For as long as she’d known him, Fury had always taken the protection of their planet seriously. Even _before _Loki had arrived, he’d seemed to believe imminent danger was heading for them from the stars. It was what had led him to designing the Avengers Initiative—which, admittedly, had indeed become necessary in the face of an Asgardian God intent on world domination.

So yes, on one hand, Fury had a point. They needed to learn as much as they could about any future threats, Thanos especially. But on the other hand, Maria figured that if there was one thing they had now, it was _time. _Right now, in this safe haven EDITH had created for them, they could _afford_ to relax. With that in mind, she pointed out, “I have no doubt we’ll learn more as the footage progresses. And even if we _are _still lacking information by the end of this, we can always ask the experts for advice. For now, there’s no harm in letting the kids have their fun.”

“She’s right,” Clint agreed. “Maybe this is a sign,” he mused. “Maybe we should take a page out of their book. Everyone needs to enjoy moments of peace while it lasts.” _Especially because peace is often in short supply in our world, _he added silently.

“There’s no point in fighting for our lives and our futures if we don’t take the time to actually _live _it,” Clint finished. He thought of his family, safe at home. Imagined a future where he would have the time to be nothing more than a _father. _No war, just peace.

Peace with his kids and his wife. There was nothing he wanted more, and he’d do _anything_ to arrive at that future. So every time he fought, it wasn’t just for his own life—it was for theirs, too, and their home together.

_Home. _It would be a beautiful future. He’d help make sure of it.

It was the only option.

_The camera captured the canals of Venice, frame traveling along the water. From down beneath the water’s surface, a deep growling sound emerged as surfs started to form on the surface, white and turbulent with foam._

_MJ and Peter were walking along the side of the canals together, when MJ suddenly broke away and approached the edge of the sidewalk. “Whoa, cool,” she murmured appreciatively, crouching down and peering at a large cast of crabs as they crawled out from the water. She turned to Peter with an awestruck grin for a moment, before turning back to take pictures with her phone. _

_Peter watched her with a grin of his own. Suddenly, his attention was drawn away as he noticed something out of the corner of his eye; he turned, grin falling away into a confused frown, to stare at a nearby manhole cover. He inspected the grate through narrowed eyes as water started to gurgle under the cover, before abruptly being sucked underground._

Bruce’s mouth fell open. “What the…”

Steve straightened in his seat, narrowed eyes carefully taking in the scene. “Something tells me things are going to go sour, _fast,_” he muttered. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and he had a feeling that _wasn’t _because of his seventy years in the ice.

Trouble was festering in those waters, and Steve dreaded the possibilities. He remembered the rock creature from the beginning of the footage with a sharp inhale. He was almost certain the two events were connected.

_The footage cut to a view of the water’s surface again, which was still rippling in torrents of rushing water._

_Sitting together on a gondola, Ned and Betty were leaning towards each other, hands pressed tightly in front of their faces, when the strong, unsteady water currents rocked their boat in a jerky motion. “What was that?” Betty asked breathlessly, filled with dread._

_As the boat continued to sway, she tried to find her own answer as she and Ned both leaned carefully over the sides of the gondola to observe the water. _

“Okay, something is _definitely _up,” Sam said, wide-eyed. “I’ve never been to Venice, but I’m pretty sure _that_ isn’t the norm there. That’s goddamn _unnatural_.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bucky snorted, jabbing Sam in the ribs with his elbow. Sam scowled at him, and Bucky couldn’t resist poking fun at him, snarking, “What gave it away?”

Sam grunted in annoyance and shoved Bucky away—or, at least, he tried to. Unfortunately for him, Bucky had the advantage of being a supersoldier with biceps of steel—_literally, _in the case of his left arm. Sam’s glower only darkened further when Bucky refused to budge, a smug smirk on his face.

“Nice try, Birdman,” Bucky said, patting his shoulder condescendingly.

Sam grumbled under his breath but refused to take the bait, knowing better than to try his luck against the enhanced soldier a second time.

_The torrents looked to be heading in a certain direction, some ways away from Ned and Betty’s gondola. Gradually, the torrents came to a halt, foam fading into the water, and the audience breathed a collective sigh of relief._

“Wait, is that it?” Scott blinked. “Is... is it over? Whatever _it _was?”

“No,” Natasha answered with a hard, knowing edge to her tone. “I doubt it. Don’t let appearances fool you. Something’s coming.” Her words carried with them a foreboding undercurrent, a harbinger of worse to come.

Indeed, her premonition was proven true mere moments later—

_Just as the two teenagers started to relax, a section of the canal exploded outwards in a forceful upsurge, frothing water erupting upwards like a geyser._

“Holy _shit_!” Scott yelped as he jolted violently, nearly toppling over onto Sam, taken by complete surprise even _despite_ Natasha’s forewarning. “What the _frick_?”

“Crap,” Sam breathed. “That does _not _look good.”

And then, practically _sensing _yet another sarcastic taunt about to burst forth from Bucky’s lips, he scowled and reached past Wanda, clapping a firm hand over the sergeant’s mouth before the man could speak. “Not a word out of you,” he warned.

_The crowds instinctively burst out into shrieks, accompanied by a stampeding noise as people began to flee the square in a panic, trying to outrun rushing water as the nearby areas were flooded and boats capsized. Peter jerked in shock, eyes blowing _wide_ open with alarm, as he watched the water shoot up higher than any of the surrounding buildings._

“Mother_fucker,_” Fury bit out.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I bet you’re regretting your impatience now,” she said.

Fury refused to dignify that with a reply, but inwardly, he admitted she was right. Maybe he’d been too hasty to bewail the lack of action. Maybe—_maybe—_he needed to take the time to appreciate moments of peace.

_Ned and Betty screamed as their gondola rode on a strong surge of water and was carried all the way to the sidewalk, knocking them into the front doors of a nearby building._

Ned shivered as he rewatched the moment of his unexpected _ejection _from the canal.

He’d _known_, at the time, that he was ultimately safe; he’d _known_ that Peter was there, that if it came between keeping his secret and saving his friends’ lives, Peter would do the right thing in a heartbeat. But that knowledge, that reassurance, hadn’t stopped him from freezing up, paralyzed as he watched the water gush towards him in a violent and massive wave and wondered _is this it?_

Fear rarely listened to reason.

_“Betty!” Peter called out, rushing towards the side of the boat closest to him, where the blonde had been sitting. “You okay?” He helped her hop out of the boat hurriedly, before ushering Ned out as well. MJ, on the other side of the gondola, quickly crossed over so she stood beside them._

_“Come on!” Peter urged, hand on Ned’s arm, tugging him over insistently._

_“Oh, my god!” someone in the background exclaimed, and Peter reflexively turned back to the water._

_“Guys, we gotta go!” Betty yelped. Peter didn’t seem to hear her, too preoccupied with scanning for danger in the canals, where water was still swirling violently in the air. Peter paled as the water finally became more compact, consolidating into the shape of a large man-monster._

_The colossal water monster _roared_._

“Oh, _fucking hell,_” Tony rasped, face paling considerably. “_Fuck. _You have _got _to be kidding me. Not _another_ one of these. First a creature made of _rocks, _and now one made of _water_? _Shit._”

“Jesus, what is up with the threats nowadays?” Rhodey bemoaned. “First _Thanos_—who is on a league of his own—and now _these _guys – uh, _creatures_? What happened to good old-fashioned terrorists?”

“Our idea of ‘normal’ went to hell a long time ago,” Pepper said pointedly, trying to ignore the reminder of how her relationship with Tony had momentarily suffered as a result of it. She swallowed. “Ever since _Loki _arrived with an entire _army of aliens, _our enemies have only gotten more and more otherworldly.”

Rhodey slumped back against the cushioning of his seat, _centuries’_ worth of exhaustion lining his face. “_Why_ is this our lives?”

_“What is _that_?” Ned hissed at Peter, turning to his best friend and grabbing onto his arms in a panic._

_But Peter had no answer for him. “I don’t know!” he snapped back, equally frantic._

“Great,” Peter grumbled. He sat up straighter in his seat and steeled himself, now knowing _exactly _what came next. This was it: the beginning of the deterioration of his trip. It hadn’t even been a _day._

But Quentin Beck had never cared about Peter’s peace of mind. He _certainly_ hadn’t cared about whether or not Peter had at least _one _satisfactory school trip.

He exchanged a grave look with his companions, Ned’s and MJ’s faces both growing ashen with dread as they, too, remembered what was coming. On his other side, Happy’s expression darkened noticeably, a storm brewing in his eyes. Their contented, relaxed demeanors dissipated at once, and Peter took a moment to mourn their previous bliss and wish they could have even a _moment _longer. Just one moment where they could forget what Beck had done to them. Forget how, even in death, his influence continued to suffocate their lives, keeping them separated until today.

The moment passed, and as the reality of Quentin Beck sank into them with redoubled force, his reach inescapable, Peter took in a deep breath and murmured, “Here we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, I’m not really sure how I feel about this chapter, mostly because some parts felt a little stiff to me and it dragged on way longer than I expected, but I really wanted to finish this part so I can get started on the action and formally introduce Beck, so :// 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it anyway <3
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Let me know if you'd like to see anyone's reaction in particular! I also finally made a tumblr for this account, so you can ask questions/give suggestions either through the comments here or on Tumblr ([@iron-loyalty](https://iron-loyalty.tumblr.com)). I haven't really done much with it yet, but over the next few days, I’ll be posting my current Irondad works on Tumblr until everything is up-to-date. I’ll also be posting previews and accepting prompts there. Anyway, feel free to drop by on Tumblr for any reason :)


	8. Part IV: Water Elementals and Mysterious ‘Heroes’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the plot of Spider-Man: Far From Home continues to unfold before the Avengers' (and co.'s) eyes, they witness Peter's first encounter with Mysterio and one of the Elementals. 
> 
> Also featuring: a phone-call home, and a shocking end to the night in the form of a tranquilizer dart in Ned's neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your support for this fic! I love each and every one of your comments!! Seriously, you guys are incredible, thank you so much!
> 
> This chapter did end up taking much longer to write than I anticipated, and I haven't had the chance to proofread it yet because I wanted to upload it as soon as possible, but I'll get around to that as soon as I can. In the meantime, I'm sorry for any grammatical errors and any continuity errors!
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy :)

_“What’re you gonna do?” Ned asked his best friend desperately, looking to the secret superhero for guidance. He and Peter were gripping each other for strength, as if they were each other’s proverbial rocks in the midst of disaster. _

_Peter’s wide eyes were fixed on the water creature looming above them. “I left my suit in the hotel room,” Peter hissed urgently out of the corner of his mouth._

“Oh, man,” Sam snickered, “you really weren’t kidding about that Parker Luck, were you?”

Peter did not look nearly as entertained as Sam did. “I wish I were,” he replied.

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, half-amused and half-concerned. “Jesus,” he huffed. “Even _ after _your aunt put your suit in your luggage, you didn’t end up having it on hand when you needed it. Man, kid, you have really bad timing.”

“I know.” Peter nodded miserably. “In my defense, how was I supposed to know our trip would be hijacked by a _ water monster_?”

“Fair point,” Bucky acknowledged. After a delayed moment, he narrowed his eyes shrewdly, catching on to Peter’s wording. “Wait a second. Hijacked your ‘trip’? Why do I suddenly get the feeling that this won’t be the last we see of this… _ thing_, whatever it is?”

_ Because it won’t be. Or, at least, it isn’t the last of its type. _ He couldn’t bring himself to say that, though, the words stubbornly lodging themselves in his throat, so instead he plastered on a smile that tasted too plastic, too fake, too bright. “You can call it an Elemental,” he offered, addressing the latter half of Bucky’s questions. “That’s the name I was told to refer to them as.” _ Even though I now know that they’re just illusions. _

Peter’s explanation only made Bucky’s narrow-eyed glare sharpen. “Told by who?” he asked astutely. “And—‘_them_’? Are there _ more_?”

Peter pressed his lips together, refusing to say more on the matter. 

“Well, there _ was _ the other monster—_Elemental_—at the beginning of the footage,” Scott speculated. “The one made of rocks? Maybe that’s what Peter meant.”

“Right,” Bucky grumbled under his breath, but his gaze remained fixated on Peter. “_Maybe_,” he conceded, but his voice was skeptical, unconvinced. His eyes swarmed with suspicion as he tracked Peter’s movements across the room.

_A panicked whine erupted from the back of Ned’s throat. "_Why_!?" the teenager demanded._

_“Because I’m on _vacation_, Ned!” Peter answered, audibly frustrated and harried. “Everyone’s gonna see my face—just get them out of here!”_

“Oh, Pete,” Rhodey breathed. He smiled, a little bittersweet and yet inexplicably proud, and murmured to himself, “Tony was right. You really are the best of us all.” _ Even now, when you should be relaxing and having fun on vacation, you’re stepping up. It isn’t your job—it _ shouldn’t _ be—but here you are. Looking out for the little guy. _

“Tony did say that, didn’t he?” Pepper whispered beside him. Unbidden, her lips twitched into a smile of her own. “He always had faith in the Spider-Kid.”

“He should be there,” Rhodey muttered. Their eyes met, commiserating on the absence of the Tony they knew together. “He always wanted to be the one to guide Peter—to mentor him.”

“He was.” Pepper blinked, and if it weren’t for the lights from the TV dappling her face, the lone tear that traced down her cheek would have gone unnoticed. “He _ is,_” she corrected herself. “Even now, he…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. Rhodey’s eyes filled with understanding and agreement. Even in Peter’s future, where Tony was gone, Tony’s memory still carried Peter along, still drove Peter to greater heights, still molded Peter into a better hero. 

(Privately, Rhodey doubted Tony’s memory would _ ever _leave Peter.)

_Without waiting for a response, he pushed Ned towards the stairs, where Betty and MJ were waiting with frantic expressions. “Go!” Betty beckoned them forward._

_Ned seemed to hesitate for the briefest of moments, wavering between his survival instincts and his loyalty to his best friend. His decision was made for him when Peter insistently shooed him away, shouting, “Just go!” _

_As though to punctuate Peter’s advice, the creature smashed a hand into a nearby building, sparking screams everywhere Peter turned. Ned finally fled, following the two girls away to safety. _

“Watching all of this with the information I now know makes everything _ so _much clearer,” MJ muttered. “No wonder you didn’t run away with us. And here I thought you were just being a reckless, self-sacrificial idiot who wanted to make sure everyone else made it to safety first.”

“He _ was _being a reckless, self-sacrificial idiot,” Ned pointed out.

“True,” MJ agreed. “But at least he’s an idiot with super strength.”

“Guys,” Peter complained, “I’m _ right here. _ I wasn’t being _ that _stupid. I had the power to help, so—”

“So you did,” Happy finished. His smile was immeasurably fond. _ Proud. _

“Still an idiot,” MJ maintained, scowling at her boyfriend. 

Peter huffed. “Am _ not,_” he argued. “Besides, I thought you already knew I was Spider-Man. Why is this a surprise?”

MJ shrugged. “I was only about 67% sure,” she reminded him. “Although this _ did _ cement that theory a little more. Knowing you, though, _ not _ having powers wouldn’t have stopped you from trying to help _ somehow_. Being a hero—it’s who you are _ in your bones_.”

Peter fought off a flinch. He _ knew _ she was trying to be supportive; he _ knew _she thought she was telling the truth, but…

He _ hadn’t _ wanted to help. When Fury had first tried to recruit him, he’d _ balked _ at the mission and eagerly foisted it on Beck, a relative _ stranger. _ He’d been so desperate to have a normal trip and spend time with his friends—with _ MJ_—that he’d shirked his duties as Spider-Man. 

(He’d been _ scared_, was the truth. He’d _ failed _ on Titan, and then he’d _ failed _against Thanos a second time, and it had cost him the life of his mentor. He’d failed and failed and failed, and when the opportunity to prove himself came, he’d been too terrified of letting people down yet again to do the right thing.

He’d been terrified of letting _ himself _ down.)

Hearing MJ’s words of praise—something she rarely doled out—only reminded him of his decision and sent a wave of _shame _crashing down on him. He wasn’t worthy of her praise, not when he’d neglected to step up until he was forced to. What kind of a hero chose a _vacation _over _saving people_?

(Oh, if only he knew.)

Peter shook his head. He dreaded MJ’s reaction—_everyone’s _ reaction—when they finally found out what a _ fraud _ he was. Would they be ashamed of him, too? _ Or just disappointed, _ he thought, and felt sick to his stomach. _ They’d be right. _

He exhaled shakily, pushing the suffocating guilt away before it could drown him. “Aww, Em,” he teased, trying to make himself grin and enjoy the moment while it lasted, “I didn’t know you looked up to Spider-Man.”

MJ’s soft, earnest gaze darkened at once. “Shut up, Parker,” she groused. “You’re confusing me with Flash.”

Peter burst out laughing and—for the moment, at least—felt his fears dissipate. MJ always seemed to know how to lift his spirits, even when she didn’t realize his spirits needed lifting. 

_Peter seemed to visibly relax as his friends left the scene, reducing any risk of them getting hurt. Unfortunately, his relief didn’t last long as the creature continued to wreak havoc in the canals, causing water to shatter windows, overflow nearby buildings, flood into the streets, and crash back down into the canals with enough force to capsize a boat. _

_As the crowds screamed in a panicked haze, Peter frantically helped people up the stairs, urging them to hasten along. “Get out of here,” he called out. “Go!” _

_Despite the anxiety brimming in his voice, there was an expression of fixed determination on his face as he turned back around to face the creature—only to find it rearing towards him in a swirl of gushing water. _

_“Oh, my god!” he cursed reflexively, stumbling back. He scrambled up the stairs and barely made it around the corner, ducking behind a solid wall, before a fist made of water _smashed _into the building he had just been standing in front of._

_Chaos ran rampant through the streets of Venice as the creature continued to ravage its surrounding buildings, leaving the streets in ruins. All around Peter, dozens of people were screaming as they tried to find shelter from the monster._

_Panting, Peter seemed to come to a decision. He frantically knocked his wrists together until a smooth mechanical hiss erupted, signaling the activation of his webshooters. “Come on,” he whispered to himself, taking a quiet moment to steel himself and find the bravery he needed before he pivoted around the corner, backpack still clinging to him, and flung his wrist outwards in his signature move. A string of webbing _rocketed _towards the creature—_

_The creature—the Elemental—continued to roar and swing its watery fists around, completely unfazed as Peter’s webbing dissolved in its midsts. _

_Peter stared on, looking exasperated and, strangely enough, befuddled—almost as if he hadn’t expected that outcome._

“Peter,” MJ groaned loudly, eyes twinkling in a way that told him she was only teasing. It was a look he loved on her. “_Peter_. Are you _ kidding _ me? It’s _ literally _ made of _ water, _ you absolute numbskull. _ How _are you on the Academic Decathlon team again?”

“She’s got a point, kid,” Tony agreed. “What did you _ think _would happen?”

Peter’s lips tugged into a frown. The truth was—

“Maybe he wasn’t thinking,” Natasha theorized contemplatively. Clint barked out a laugh beside her, but Natasha hardly noticed, her narrowed eyes scrutinizing Peter’s expression on the screen. As far as she could tell, the teenager looked genuinely _ surprised. _

“What I _meant _is, maybe it was instinctive,” Natasha clarified, interrupting Clint’s laughter as she put two and two together. “You did say you had a sixth sense, right? At first glance, your decision to shoot webs at a _water creature _seems ridiculous, but what if there’s more to it than meets the eye? Did your… ‘danger sense’ tell you to shoot the Elemental?”

Peter blinked, surprised to hear Natasha’s analysis. Truthfully, he hadn’t given the Water Elemental much thought after the battle ended—an avoidance that had only been magnified by the revelation that Beck was the real villain all along. After Beck’s betrayal, he’d tried to forget the Elementals altogether, haunted by how completely and thoroughly he’d been duped. 

Thinking about it now, though, with his newfound insight into the Elementals being nothing more than _ illusions—_and certainly not made of water—Peter wondered if Natasha had a point. 

“I thought we established that his sixth sense wasn’t working, though,” Shuri argued. “It didn’t help him when his aunt threw a banana at him.”

“Perhaps it only fails to work in the presence of someone he trusts,” Vision suggested. “It is clear that Mr. Parker feels safe in the presence of his aunt.”

“So the sixth sense is, what, conditional?” Shuri pondered.

The three fell quiet, each mulling over the possibilities. Peter, too, stayed silent as he processed their thoughts on his own. They all had a point, but—

Peter _ also _ knew that it wasn’t the only time his sixth sense had let him down. It had refused to work time and time again, up until the final showdown with Beck. _ Or rather, _ he realized, _ until Happy knocked some sense into me. _

Happy was the one who’d ultimately reminded him of who he was when he felt like he’d lost sight of Spider-Man. And when he’d been on the verge of giving up, _ Happy _ had been there to tell him that Mr. Stark, at least, had had faith in him—even if he could no longer have faith in himself. 

It was _ that, _ in the end, that had helped him believe in himself again and remember _ why _ he fought. 

“Kid?” Happy nudged him gently. “You good?”

Peter blinked himself back to awareness. He glanced at Happy and found himself unwittingly smiling at the man. 

Startled, Happy tilted his head, eyebrows arched as if to say _ what’s on your mind? _

Peter shook his head, his smile softening. “Yeah,” he whispered, and he meant _ thank you. _“I’m good.”

Happy smiled back at him finally, and Peter hoped he could hear what Peter couldn’t say. Happy reached out and squeezed his elbow briefly, and Peter thought that maybe Happy _ could_—maybe Happy understood anyway.

_ Anytime, kid. _

_The Elemental turned away from Peter at last, setting its sights on a crowded bridge in the distance. Peter whipped his head around, horrified, as countless civilians rushed to freedom on the bridge, their petrified shrieks audible from where he stood. As the water monster began to make its way towards the bridge _swarming_ with innocent lives, Peter’s eyes widened and he took off _running_. “Oh no, you don’t,” he hissed to himself._

_Within seconds—split-seconds—Peter was at the edge of the canals. He didn’t even hesitate before _leaping_ onto the first pillar sticking out of the water. He quickly traversed the canal, making his way from pillar to pillar in a series of coordinated jumps. When he reached the last pillar available, he grabbed a long pole and _catapulted_ across the sky onto the roof of a boat. Once he had his feet back on solid ground, Peter used the pole as leverage and launched himself up onto the bridge._

_As soon as he arrived, he crouched before a man sprawled out on the ground and hurriedly helped him up. “You okay?” he checked, not even waiting for an answer before he ushered the man away. “Get out of here. Go!”_

_The man gratefully scurried away. Now alone on the bridge, Peter barely had enough time to whirl around and face the oncoming threat before he was sent hurtling backwards as water slammed into the bridge. _

_Peter grunted in pain as his back collided with the other side of the bridge. He hadn’t managed to avoid the water completely this time, leaving him soaking wet against the pale white of the bridge. His clothes, backpack and hair were all completely drenched. _

“_Jesus_,” Rhodey swore. 

Tony grunted in agreement. “Kid, you are _ not _ equipped to fight a moving ball of _ water,_” he grumbled. “_Please _get to safety.”

“Oh, please,” Pepper snorted. “That kid is too much like you to go into hiding when there’s a chance he could help someone.”

Tony made a choked, incoherent noise of protest.

Pepper smiled wryly. “You’re both too selfless for your own good,” she complained, but when Tony met her eyes, he saw only fondness in that stare. 

“I— that’s not…” he tried to protest. _ I’m not a hero, not really, _ he wanted to say, and he heard his father’s voice echoing his condemnation. He heard _ Captain America’s _ voice driving the point home. _ I’m not selfless. _

(He _ wanted _ to be. He wished Iron Man was enough to make up for his sins, to erase the blood on his hands, to _ right his wrongs. _

He knew it wasn’t—_knew _ he’d never be able to attain absolution for all the innocent lives that had been claimed by his weapons—but he wished nonetheless.) 

Pepper’s gaze was gentle. Understanding. “You are,” she said, firm and unyielding, and it left him breathless. He wanted, more than anything, to believe her. 

But there was another voice in the back of his mind, full of resentment and disgust, that drowned out Pepper’s reassurances. _ The only thing you really fight for is yourself, _ the voice hissed, cold and unrelenting in its judgement, sharp like the tip of an icicle. Steve Rogers’ hateful, accusatory glare flashed in his mind. _ You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you. _

Tony inhaled sharply. As much as he tried to pretend Steve’s words hadn’t gotten to him, they _ had. _ He was _ Mr. Good and Righteous, _ after all, the American _ icon _his father had idolized for years. He’d grown up being compared to Steve day after day.

And in his father’s eyes, he’d _ paled _in comparison.

(In Steve’s eyes, too, it turned out.)

Even now, after they’d gone into battle and emerged _ victorious _ together, he still couldn’t quite shake off Steve’s initial, immediate disapprobation. The good captain’s venomous words continued to cling to him like second skin.

“Tony.” Pepper’s voice drew him out of his self-loathing. He lifted his stare reluctantly. When she saw that she had his undivided attention, she nodded, slow and _ certain, _ and repeated: “You _ are _ selfless. You’ve done so much good.” Her voice carried with it the conviction of a thousand women, and Tony couldn’t understand _ why. _

(What had he done to deserve her faith? To deserve her, _ period_?)

Tony bit back a vehement denial and tried to block out the echo of Steve’s recrimination. He swallowed down the part of him that _ agreed _ with Steve—the part of him that was saturated with the memory of Afghanistan, of _ his _name on those weapons laying claim to innocent lives, of Yinsen’s lifeless eyes and the bloodstained ground. 

He hid his trembling hands under his thighs and contorted his face into something that resembled a smile. 

“Well, it comes with the job description, doesn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, nodding in acceptance as if the words didn’t taste like poison on his tongue. 

Pepper quirked an eyebrow at him, and he let the smile widen on his face. (His smile was like the ice frozen over the surface of a lake: fragile and brittle, as if the slightest touch could shatter it into a million pieces and expose the unfathomable darkness inside him.) A lifetime of being in the public eye had taught him how to act as if he was everything they expected him to be. He made use of that experience now to lie through his teeth and pretend that everything was _ picture perfect, _even as Steve’s voice continued to rattle in his skull like his own death knell— 

_ You’d better stop pretending to be a hero, _ Steve Rogers snarled, the heat behind his words _ undeniable_—

—“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does,” Tony concluded, forceful and dissonant. He cleared his throat loudly to hide the stiffness in his expression. “_Iron Man, selfless Avenger. _ It’s practically a requirement.”

(He’d always been a good liar.)

_Peter coughed up water with a groan as he tried to catch his breath. Slowly, he lifted himself up onto shaky feet just as a familiar—to the audience, at least—ray of green light appeared from above the creature. The Elemental gave a pained groan as the green light beam hit its watery body._

_Peter twisted his head around, searching for the source. Up in the sky, a cloud of green mist phased into existence. The trail of mist veered towards Peter, approaching with a rumbling sound before it stopped mere meters away. _

_From out of the mist appeared the same man from the beginning of the footage, still garbed in his elaborate suit and cape, still donning his distinctive glass bowl as a mask. Just like earlier, the glass bowl was clouded over with mist, preventing anyone from seeing the man’s face behind it. _

“Oh, thank _ god,_” Steve exhaled. “At least you’re not fighting alone anymore.” _ Even if we aren’t there—for _ some _ reason, _he added to himself with an unnoticeable frown. 

Peter was barely able to silence the snort before it left him. _ Thank god? _ he echoed to himself. _ I’m not sure gratitude is what I would go with. Sorry to disappoint you, Cap, but Beck didn’t exactly show up to save the day. None of this would have even _ happened _ if it weren’t for Beck. _

_Peter stared, wide-eyed, as the caped man hovered boldly in front of the water creature, fists outstretched and swirling with the signature forest green of his misty powers._

_Shaking it off, Peter glanced around desperately until his gaze finally landed on a gold-and-blue jester mask lying conspicuously on the ground._

“Oh, god, you _ didn’t,_” Shuri whispered, horrified and transfixed all at once.

Peter reddened with shame. “I did,” he confirmed, sounding miserable. “That was… not my best idea.”

“No kidding,” Shuri snickered. “A _ jester mask. _ What is this, a _ masquerade_? If your classmates saw you, they’d have to be _ fools _ not to recognize you. I mean, you’re not even changing your _ clothes._”

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

_While Peter was searching for a disguise, the man in the cape was putting up a valiant effort against the Elemental. He attacked the creature with his green beams, all the while dodging attacks with flips and loops in the air. He was eventually overpowered, a forceful blow from the creature sending him plummeting into the canals._

_The creature roared victoriously, water bubbling up all around him as if in triumph. In the middle of his impromptu celebration, the caped stranger—hero?—reemerged from the water and shot up towards the monster._

_He was in the middle of another struggle with the creature when Peter’s voice piped up from behind him. “Excuse me, sir!” the teenager called out. The caped man craned his neck around and spotted Peter popping up above the roof of a nearby building, hanging on by only the palms of his hands. “I-I can help! Let me help! I’m really strong, and I’m… sticky!”_

“Well,” Scott chuckled, “that’s one way to put it.”

Shuri was laughing so hard she was wheezing. “‘_I’m… sticky_,’” she echoed through her laughter, eyes tearing up. She slapped her knee and mouthed again, _ I’m sticky. Oh, my god. _

T’Challa frowned disapprovingly at his sister before adding his two cents: “All your powers, and the best you could come up with was _ I’m really strong and I’m sticky _?”

Peter shrugged helplessly.

“Peter has a thing for understatements,” Happy snorted, unapologetically throwing him under the bus. “He’s too modest for his own good. ‘Really strong’ is _ hugely _underplaying his abilities.”

_The man didn’t so much as bat an eye. “I need to lead it away from the canals!” he shouted back, abruptly flying through the building Peter was hanging off of. _

_The water creature promptly followed in a burst of air, causing the roof to cave in on itself. _

“What the _ fuck_?” Tony cursed, nearly jumping up from his seat in frustration. His own insecurities _ vanished _ in the face of the danger onscreen-Peter found himself faced with. “Christ, that recklessness is going to get the kid _ killed_.”

Steve couldn’t even find it in himself to reprimand Tony for his vulgar language, gaping uselessly up at the screen and at the man who he had _ just _ thought was a godsend. He’d been _ relieved _ that someone had finally showed up to lend Peter a hand, and yet the _ first _thing this stranger did was lure the Elemental straight towards Peter.

He shook his head in disapproval. “What is he _ doing_?” he muttered to himself. “I know he needs to lead it away, but… _ surely, _there’s a better path.”

“Sure,” Happy griped under his breath, too quiet for anyone but Peter to hear. “If you aren’t purposely targeting Peter, that is.”

Peter patted Happy’s knee commiseratingly.

_Unlike the Avengers in the audience, onscreen-Peter simply took it in stride, rolling off and lunging onto a different roof._

_As the caped man began maneuvering his way through alleyways, the Elemental always hot on his tails, Peter trailed after them on his webs. He landed in a crouch on one of the nearby roofs, watching with narrowed eyes as people scrambled out of the way of crumbling walkways and bridges. _

“Never mind. That recklessness is going to get _ everyone _ killed,” Tony amended himself with an indignant scowl. “Who even _ is _this guy?”

The question settled in the air. When no one answered, Tony wasn’t the only one who turned to look at Peter Parker and co., huddled together and exchanging meaningful glances; _ everyone _turned to stare.

Tony frowned. “Hap? Peter and kids?” he pressed, ignoring Ned and MJ’s immediate eye-rolls. “Who is he?”

Peter shivered, unable to reply, too busy staring at the image of Quentin Beck on the screen. _ This is the face that plagues my nightmares, _he thought. 

He swallowed heavily. He doubted he would ever forget Beck’s face—or the illusions that accompanied his memory of Beck. He’d never be free of the hell Beck put him through.

“Mysterio,” he said finally, croaking out the answer. Tony’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, but Peter actively sought to avoid his gaze. “He goes by Mysterio.”

“Doesn’t really answer my question, kid,” Tony remarked sarcastically. He had a whole slew of other questions for the kid to answer, but something told him Peter would refuse to say anything more on the matter. He squinted. “You _ do _know his real identity, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” MJ muttered, too quietly for anyone to catch.

Peter just shrugged. “You’ll find out eventually,” he said vaguely, and if his expression was conflicted, it was because his mind refused to shut up about how _ they’ll find out you never deserved Tony’s trust—and you certainly never deserved the world’s faith_. Honestly, he just wanted to forget Quentin Beck ever even existed. He wanted to forget he’d ever been _ stupid _enough to trust that man. 

But he couldn’t erase his actions. He couldn’t rewrite history. The only thing he could do was do _ better _next time. 

“‘Eventually’,” Tony quoted with an exasperated eye-roll. “Did no one ever tell you how impatient I get, kid? _ God_.”

Peter shrugged again. (On one hand, he _ did _ know. He knew _ all too well _ that Tony Stark and ‘patience’ didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand.) (On the other hand, though, Mr. Stark sometimes _ was _ patient—with _ him_, at least.)

(...He didn’t want to think about how _ this _ Tony Stark had no reason to be patient with him. Didn’t want to think about how this Tony Stark didn’t _ know _ him—didn’t _ care._)

Tony blew a breath out of his mouth. “_God,_” he repeated. “Okay, _ fine_. ‘Mysterio’ it is, then.” He huffed, muttered _ what a dumb name _to himself, and sat back to continue watching.

_Peter swung into action, gracefully flipping into the center of a collapsing building and shooting out multiple webs in quick succession. He was a flurry of movement, and the audience all watched enraptured as, in a matter of moments, Peter was using his webbing to hold the building together._

“Damn,” Tony whistled, his annoyance at Peter’s secrecy completely forgotten and replaced by begrudging awe, “that was _ impressive_. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Peter had to squash down the instinctive way his mind wandered to the infamous Staten Island Ferry ordeal. He _ shuddered _ at the thought of that disaster. He’d gotten _ far _better at holding things together since then, but nevertheless he’d never be able to leave that memory behind. 

The people’s petrified screams and his _ own _ rising terror as the two halves of the ferry swayed and tilted and split apart continued to torment him to this day. He could still feel the agonizing _ stretch _ in his arms and his ribcage as he was pulled apart by force.

(He could still remember Mr. Stark’s wrath, too. No matter how many new memories he’d formed with Mr. Stark, no matter how many smiles or hair ruffles or pats on the back Mr. Stark had given him, he’d never forget how it felt to let down his mentor—his _ hero. _

Every _ you did good, kid _ was accompanied by the echo of a different tune—of Mr. Stark’s disappointment and _ what if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? ‘Cause that’s on you. _

Every _ I’m proud of you _ felt tainted by the memory of Mr. Stark shaking his head, of Mr. Stark’s dark eyes and _ I wanted you to be better. I’m gonna need the suit back. _

And now _every time _ he went out there, it was with the knowledge that he’d _failed_ once before haunting his every action. 

It was with the thought that he’d _ proved himself _once before, too. 

It was with the whispers of _ if you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it _ chasing at his heels, and with the broken record of _ come on, Spider-Man _biting back.)

(Staten Island would never leave him. The memory of that day stayed with him always.

His first failure—and, later, his first triumph.)

If this was _ his _ Mr. Stark, he’d roll his eyes and joke, _ has your old man memory finally failed you, Mr. Stark, or have you just shut out the memory of Staten Island forever? _ He’d bump shoulders with his mentor and remind him, assuaging the guilt Peter _ knew _ stayed with him, _ I learnt from you. You taught me to trust myself instead of relying on technology completely. _ He’d offer Mr. Stark a smile and say, _ You made me a better hero. _

But this _ wasn’t _ his Mr. Stark, so instead of a smile, it was a grimace that graced his face. “Uh, practice?” was all he could offer as an explanation, his voice weak and unsteady. He was unable to so much as look Tony—_Tony, _ not _ Mr. Stark_, because he had to distinguish between the two lest he go _ insane_—in the eye.

Tony frowned. (He felt like he’d been doing a lot of that lately.) “Right,” he said skeptically. “Practice. Sure.” 

There was so much he was _ missing, _ and Tony _knew it. _He knew it in the way Peter refused to meet his gaze, in the way Happy stared at him like he was seeing a ghost whenever he thought Tony wasn’t paying attention, in the way Ned and MJ sometimes shot the Avengers distrustful looks. 

The gap between 2012 and 2024 was a wide one—_too _ wide—and Tony had no idea how to _ bridge _ it. Twelve years was, evidently, plenty of time for things to go horribly, horribly wrong.

_Elsewhere, Mr. Harrington and Mr. Dell were leading a small group of Midtown students through the streets of Venice. _

_“The Da Vinci Museum,” Mr. Dell enthused, following Mr. Harrington’s lead as they herded the students down a stairway. “This is why we’re here in Venice!”_

“You’ve _ gotta _ be kidding me.” Clint’s jaw dropped. “There’s an honest-to-god _ water monster _ ripping through the streets of Venice, and your class is out _ touring _right now?”

“Uh…” Ned stammered.

“How on earth are your chaperones missing this?” Clint fumed. “Or, if they aren’t, what the hell are they _ thinking_?”

Ned and MJ both had nothing to say in defense of their teachers.

_Mr. Harrington had a map flipped open in front of him, occasionally referring to it as he tried to find their intended destination. Finally, he slowed to a stop. _

_“Oh, this is it!” he announced, lowering his map. After a beat of silence, he blinked in dismay. “It’s closed.”_

“Oh my—"

“Are you _ serious_—”

_“What – what do you mean it’s closed?” Mr. Dell stammered, taken aback. He squinted. “‘Till when?”_

_“November,” one of the students replied, standing in front of a sign by the front doors of the museum along with Brad._

_Mr. Dell turned to his colleague, exasperated. “You didn’t check the website?” he demanded._

_Mr. Harrington blinked again. “Oh, that’s a good idea,” he noted dumbly._

“Good grief,” Scott bemoaned. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the group’s situation. He settled for shaking his head. “This is a _ disaster._”

“I’ll say,” Clint grumbled, still irritated, being one of the only ones who actually _ had _children who might go on field trips in the future.

_Before anyone else could say anything in response, the caped man appeared from behind them. He was closely followed by a blast of water, leaving yet another wreck in their wake as the Midtown group fled in a panic. _

_As the civilian crowds scattered, running for their lives, the water monster pursued the caped stranger vehemently, clawing at him and tearing down buildings in the process. Every time the stranger dodged, the water creature’s fist would slam into a different structure—on one memorable occasion, the creature knocked into a lofty bell tower, causing the side of the tower to become spiderwebbed with cracks. _

_Hero and villain continued to battle it out in a flurry of watery attacks and emerald blasts, seemingly heedless of the damage occurring all around them. _

_Watching from a rooftop, Peter caught sight of the bell tower’s crumbling state and—alarmingly—the group of people standing directly under the tower._

_“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, the bells hanging from his jester mask jingling slightly. He shook his head and leapt into action, swinging his way towards the tower. _

“I _ swear,_” Hill sighed, “this new guy—whoever he is—does _ not _know the meaning of damage control.”

Fury snorted. “He fits right in,” he snarked.

As the Avengers quickly devolved into a debate over who caused the most material damage—Bruce obviously won, hands down—and Tony promptly added that _ he _ was the one who had to pay the bills every time one of them ‘screwed the pooch’, MJ leaned in towards her partners-in-crime and muttered, “I think that was the _ point._”

Peter and Ned nodded in sync.

“Maximum effect and all that, right?” Peter asked rhetorically with a self-deprecating sigh. “And we walked right into his trap.”

The trio of lamenting teenagers never once noticed the way Loki straightened abruptly in his seat, eyes narrowing in response to their whispered conversation. _ Maximum effect? Trap? _They didn’t notice the alarmed look he shot them either, or the suspicion that graced his face as he refocused on the screen.

No, they didn’t notice Loki’s reaction at all, too preoccupied with their regrets to remember who else was close enough to hear their hushed whispers.

_In the streets below him, the Midtown group were running to a canopied area, bodies slightly hunched over as if to keep out of sight. “Stay low, kids,” Mr. Dell cautioned as he led the way, the water creature visible beyond the canopy. “We’ll be safe here!”_

_The group skidded to a stop, each of them dropping into a crouch so as to stay hidden._

“The fight is… literally _ right there,_” Clint choked out. “What is he _ talking _ about? ‘_Safe_’? Is he _ delusional_?”

Natasha patted his shoulder sympathetically, knowing better than anyone where his worries came from. She wished she could take a moment to comfort him—even if only to whisper a quick _ your children are safe, Clint, they’re okay_—but she knew better than to let her guard down, even if only for a second.

She settled for a quick _ squeeze, _letting her actions convey her reassurance.

_Up above, Peter shot a web at the bell tower, swinging around it while simultaneously applying copious amounts of webbing to keep the tower from falling apart completely. With one last swing, Peter landed on the top of the tower, ducking under the rusted bell to get to the other side. _

“Quick thinking, kid,” Bucky praised. 

Scott nodded in agreement. “At least _ someone’s _worrying about the collateral damage.”

_Peering out over the edge, Peter took off his mask and watched, panting, as the caped hero valiantly fought the water monster, hands glowing green._

_The hero flew around the monster, shooting out his signature beams every few seconds. In a fit of rage, the Elemental’s fist shot out towards him—only for the hero to dodge at the last second._

_The water monster’s fist abruptly collided with the bell tower once more, destabilizing it completely and undoing Peter’s efforts. _

“I— you’ve _ gotta _ be shitting me,” Tony grumbled. “It’s like he’s _ trying _to bring the fight to the tower. Jesus.”

Loki’s eyes widened momentarily, cutting to Tony in a burst of realization. _ It’s like he’s ‘trying’? _ he repeated to himself. He couldn’t help but think of MJ, Ned and Peter’s hushed exchange earlier—MJ’s bitter _ that was the point _ and Peter’s resigned _ maximum effect and all that. _

_ Shit, _ Loki thought, gritting his teeth. _ Who could he be, to make Peter refuse to say anything about him to Stark? What… what does he _ want_? _

The prospects did not look good.

_At the top of the tower, Peter staggered as the ground beneath his feet began to shake and fall in response to the tower’s slow collapse. Peter moved away from the edge and determinedly shot a web at each of the two buildings on either side of him. Firmly planting his feet on the ground—using his stickiness to his advantage—Peter stood firm, refusing to be pulled down. As a result, the tower slowed to a stop, held up only by Peter’s web and his own brute strength._

_Unfortunately, the fight made its way towards the bell tower again, and the water monster and Mysterio both crashed into the side of the tower. _

_As the tower began to fall once more, Peter found himself being pulled forward by the momentum—his head slammed into the bell, making it ring and leaving him to fall backwards with a startled yell._

“_Shit,_” Loki hissed, his face pinched like he was the one who’d just been tossed around like a battered rag doll. “Fucking _ hell_.”

He turned to the _ child _ beside him with his heart in his throat, tension underlining his movements. A hit like that probably would have barely fazed him, but he _ knew _ that Midgardians were a hell of a lot more vulnerable than he was. He’d exploited that same fact just recently as he’d tried to enslave Midgard, the memory of Thanos’s ruthless stare keeping him obedient even from a galaxy away, but _ now _—as he watched Peter suffer a hard hit to the head—he was far from grateful for the Midgardians’ mortality.

(For _ Peter’s _mortality.)

“Parker, you…” Loki trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. The words _ you were hurt _ and _ are you better now _ and _ I should kill them both for putting you in harm’s way _ and _ you shouldn’t _ be _ in harm’s way _danced on his tongue.

Unspoken or not, Peter seemed to hear his sentiments. “Don’t worry,” Peter reassured. Loki opened his mouth to deny it—he was a _ god, _ the God of _ Mischief _ in fact, and gods didn’t _ worry_—but couldn’t bring himself to shoot Peter down. “I’m fine. That was nothing.”

Loki frowned. _ That was not nothing, _ he wanted to argue. _ It shouldn’t be nothing. You shouldn’t be used to getting injured. You’re practically a newborn! _

(A heartachingly _ good _ and _ selfless _newborn.)

“Yeah,” Ned piped up. “Peter’s tough. There’s no need to freak out.” _ Yet. _

Loki scoffed, pouring as much feigned offense as he could into the sound. “I’m not ‘freaking out’,” he denied with a hiss. 

Ned raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it. “If you aren’t freaking out, then what’s with the dagger?” he challenged.

Loki blinked, startled, and turned to Peter for answers. _ Your friend’s crazy, _ he was tempted to say, but Peter just gestured at Loki’s lap. Loki looked down and found himself staring at his favorite gold-hilted dagger lying innocuously on his lap, his fingers curled around the handle with familiarity. The dagger—shimmering with residual _ seidr_, a manifestation of his magic—rested in his subconscious grip as if it had always been there.

“Oh,” Loki mumbled. He vehemently _ did not _ blush—he’d always had an _ excellent _poker face—but the tips of his ears were tinged a vivid scarlet. 

Ned snickered, a little smug.

Loki cleared his throat pointedly and willed the dagger to disappear with a flick of his wrist—which, naturally, only prompted even _ more _laughter from the Spiderling’s friend.

Before Loki could flay Ned alive (or at least _ threaten _ to—he probably wouldn’t actually _ make good _ on that threat, not when it would upset a certain Midgardian), said certain Midgardian shifted slightly and nudged Loki’s elbow with his own. “Ned’s right,” Peter said. “I _ am _tough. It comes with the territory—and the spider bite. I barely even felt that.”

Loki cleared his throat again. Hummed. Muttered a quiet, embarrassed _ okay. _

Peter hummed back and returned to his original position, leaving it at that. _ Okay, _ he echoed. _ Okay. _

(_Physically, _Peter was okay.

Inwardly, mentally, _ emotionally_? He felt a long, long way away from it.

_ Maybe one day, _ he thought, and snuck a glance at Tony, flanked on either side by his friends. _ Maybe one day._)

_Still dizzy from the impact, Peter groaned from where he laid on the floor, arms still spread out on either side of him and holding on to the webs._

_All of a sudden, Peter was _yanked _forward, his body sliding across the length of the floor as the tower started to topple over with renewed urgency. Peter’s knees came up as a last-minute, reflexive attempt to stop his momentum, but that only caused him to sit up and hit the bell with his head a second time. _

_As he fell back again, blinking away the pain, his hands were terrifyingly empty—the sudden, jerky movements had caused the webs to slip out of his grip, leaving the tower to continue its downward descent with no more resistance._

_Shaking his head, Peter shot out two new webs, planting his feet onto the pillar at one of the corners of the tower. Bending over slightly, he spread out his feet and held on fast, trying to hold the tower up all by himself now. The effort it cost him left him gritting his teeth and _groaning _to himself, eyes squeezed shut._

_The camera zoomed out, showing the bell tower barely hanging on at a slanted angle, attached to a nearby building by a thin line of webbing. _

“Holy crap.” Sam blinked. He blew out a shaky breath, the beginnings of a hysterical laugh bubbling up his throat. “Damn, kid, are you… are you _ holding up an entire bell tower_? On your _ own, _ with _ nothing _ to support its weight? _ Shit._”

“I know you said you had super strength, but that’s _ insane_!” Scott added enthusiastically. “That’s— wow. Just… _ wow_.”

“Even I’m impressed,” Steve admitted. “I’m not sure _ I’d _be able to carry the weight of that tower on my own.”

Bucky pursed his lips, unwittingly flashing back to Leipzig, to a red-clothed hand stopping his punch and firm fingers closing around his metal fist, to Spider-Man’s cheerful voice prattling in his ear—_You have a metal arm!? That is _ awesome, _ dude! _

The memory faded, and Bucky turned around and squinted at Peter. “Just how much _ can _ you lift?” he asked, genuinely curious.

"I’m curious as well," Thor chimed in with an intrigued _ hmm_. "You refused to answer me earlier, but I think I'd _ really _ like to know now."

Peter _ flinched, _the phantom taste of dust and rubble heavy on his tongue. Toomes’ laughter rang in his ears, a sound he still heard in his nightmares. “Let’s just say,” he started, eyes downcast, “that bell tower isn’t the first building I’ve had to hold up.”

Bucky’s eyes widened—not so much at the admission, but rather at the look on Peter’s face, eyes glazed over and _ haunted. _It was a look he knew well; a look he recognized from seeing it in the mirror far too many times. It was the look of someone plagued by living nightmares, Bucky thought.

He shuddered to think of the type of nightmare that could have left a mark on a _ child _ so deep that Peter was _ still _tormented, even after an encounter with the Titan responsible for the destruction of half the universe.

_Nearby, Mysterio and the water monster were still duking it out. The monster managed to land a hit on Mysterio, slamming him into the ground with a loud grunt. Mysterio regained his bearings quickly and rose to the air once more, green mist swirling around him. One hand motion later, he’d somehow summoned a shining triangular symbol in the air. _

_Behind the water monster, a larger version of the same symbol manifested out of thin air. From the center of the triangle, a miniature tornado of green mist emerged, surging towards the monster. Mysterio seemed to be controlling the tornado, which wrapped itself around the Elemental’s ‘neck.’_

“Huh,” Thor hummed. “I suppose he is more than just a colorful light show, after all. That’s… a _ fascinating _ attack. I wonder what else he’s capable of.”

“Yeah, but, does this mean he had _ that _up his sleeve this entire time?” Rhodey demanded. “Why didn’t he do that from the beginning?”

“Dramatic effect, Uncle Rhodey,” Peter sighed to himself. “Dramatic effect.”

Unbeknownst to him, Loki’s keen ears caught his muttered commentary. _ Dramatic effect, huh? _he echoed with a frown. The more he heard Peter and his companions talk about Beck, the more he was beginning to dread finding out who exactly the mysterious ‘hero' was.

But besides that… _ ‘Uncle’ Rhodey? _ Loki’s eyebrows hiked up his forehead. He’d _ known _Peter must have been close to the Stark from his timeline—there was no denying the grief that Peter carried with him even now, after all. And Loki wasn’t about to forget Peter’s heated rant about Tony Stark being his ‘role model’ anytime soon, but… 

_ Uncle, huh. _ Loki thought of Stark’s friendly, almost _ brotherly_—not that he would know, he couldn’t help but think bitterly—relationship with James Rhodes and settled his face into a pensive frown. 

Loki knew Peter and Stark weren’t related—not biologically, at least. The Tony Stark of 2012 clearly did not recognize Peter as his son (_yet_). But the way Peter _ looked _at Stark and ‘Uncle’ Rhodey both…

_ Huh. _

Loki took Peter in with thoughtful eyes, considering him as if for the first time. There was no questioning that Peter cared about Stark; there was no denying the irreparable mark Stark’s absence left on Peter. From that alone, Loki could tell that Peter and Stark had shared a relationship founded on compassion and unconditional familial love—a type of relationship so foreign and unfamiliar to Loki himself. 

Loki didn’t recognize the look in Peter’s eyes; he _ knew _he’d never had that same look himself.

Odin had never been much of a father to him, after all. He and Peter might be similar in that they both had fathers unconnected to them by blood and biological obligation, but their relationships with their (emotionally) adopted fathers were clearly worlds apart.

_EDITH focused on the Midtown group, who were still watching the fight from beneath their canopied hiding place. They all seemed to be at the edge of their seats, hoping for Mysterio’s victory. Flash Thompson, notably, was filming the entire fight on his phone._

T’Challa squinted. “Is he – is he _ filming _this?” he asked incredulously. He shot his sister a pointed look out of the corner of his eye, unable to help but think of the last time Shuri had recorded him during battle.

Shuri stuck her tongue out at him. “_Research purposes, _brother,” she reminded him defensively.

Ned offered a sheepish shrug. “People our age don’t really have the best survival instincts,” he admitted.

“Case in point: our resident spiderling,” Happy drawled.

Ned chuckled, ignoring Peter’s offended _ hey! _ without remorse. “You can say that again,” he said. “As for Flash, well… Flash is _ Flash. _ To be fair, there wasn’t really anything else he could’ve done. It’s not like he could’ve _ helped. _”

“He should’ve put his phone down and just _ hid_,” T’Challa pointed out with a disapproving frown. His sister could be just as reckless when she wanted to be, much to his displeasure. Shuri smacked his arm in exasperation, clearly hearing the unspoken taunt directed at her, but he ignored her easily. “Like everyone _ else _ is doing.”

Ned bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything else. _ You don’t know Flash, _he wanted to say—unlike Shuri, he didn’t realize the real point behind T’Challa’s remark—but he didn’t have the right to accuse T’Challa of ignorance when the truth was that Ned didn’t know Flash, either—not really. 

No one did. 

Flash was _ popular_, but at the same time, he didn’t really have anyone at his side—not like Ned had Peter. In the end, Flash’s social media presence was his _ life_.

Ned and Peter had spent months observing Peter’s childhood bully out of sheer confusion after Flash’s pseudo-apology to Peter following the second Blip. And in time, they’d realized that while other students turned to their peers for comfort, Flash turned to his followers. While others shared inside jokes and secrets with friends, Flash shared dozens of videos with his followers with a falsely cheerful smile on his face and a lively _ tune in next time to stay up-to-date! _

Flash’s day-to-day routine revolved around his videos and his Flash Mob. He _ prided _himself on his ability to keep his viewers updated on the goings-on of the world. And that included Mysterio’s battle against his own creation.

Ned shook his head. _ I post stupid videos daily for people to like me, _ Flash had said in a rare outburst of honesty that fateful day in London, and those words had been filled with an insecurity Ned hadn’t realized Flash was even _ capable _of.

No, T’Challa didn’t know Flash, but neither did Ned.

_“Who is that guy?” one of the students demanded._

_“I don’t know,” Brad Davis replied, “but he’s kicking that water’s ass!”_

_They all watched eagerly as Mysterio _howled_ with the effort of detaining the water monster. With one last incoherent scream, Mysterio redoubled the size of his tornado before it disappeared completely in a burst of water and mist. _

_Peter, meanwhile, was not having as much luck with his task. His face contorted in agony as the weight of the tower finally seemed to be hitting him, causing him to scream aloud. The tower continued to crumble, Peter’s webs breaking apart._

_As Peter struggled to keep the tower above ground, Mysterio unleashed another wave of energy at the water monster, finally vanquishing the Elemental. The Elemental dissolved with one final watery explosion, throwing Mysterio backwards and sending the tower crashing to the ground. _

_Peter’s webs _snapped_ in two and he hurtled downwards with a soundless scream._

_All at once, the tower hit the ground with a resounding _clang_, Peter buried amongst the ruins._

“Holy _ shit,_” Tony breathed, lurching forward in his seat as he felt his heart _ plummet _ to the ground. “Shit. _ Peter._”

“Damn, kid,” Rhodey hissed. Quiet though it was, his voice was guttural with horror. “That was _ not _a short fall. Are you…?”

“It looks worse than it felt,” Peter reassured. “I was fine, I promise.” _ I was fine _ then, _ at least. That was far from the worst thing Quentin Beck did to me. _

Rhodey squinted at him disbelievingly, no doubt remembering all of the major injuries Peter had hidden over the years. “Really?”

Peter gave Rhodey a shaky smile and pointed at the screen. “Really,” he confirmed. “You’ll see. I’ve had worse.”

Tony flinched, a reflex that would have gone unnoticed if not for the fact that Peter had already been looking in his general direction.

“God,” Rhodey sighed, dragging Peter’s attention back to him, “that does _ not _make me feel better.”

Peter huffed a laugh. “Then you aren’t going to enjoy watching the rest of this at all,” he warned half-heartedly. “Just a heads up.”

Rhodey _ groaned. _

_The dust began to settle and the water began to evaporate as Mysterio landed gracefully to the cheers of the emerging crowds. He basked in their applause for a moment, broad-shouldered and caped as he faced his audience—as if like a king greeting his subjects._

_While his fellow Midtown students and teacher showered Mysterio in applause, Peter got up on shaky feet and dug out his gift to MJ. Uncapping the case, he laid eyes on the black dahlia necklace and found it unbroken—as flawless as it had ever been. _

_He sighed in audible relief._

“Aww, Pete,” Happy teased. “You’re just head over heels, aren’t you?”

Peter flushed and looked down, desperately avoiding both Happy’s and MJ’s eyes.

“God, you are _ adorable,_” Shuri told him, completely deadpan. “You just fell from a _ bell tower, _ and instead of checking _ yourself _ over for injuries, the first thing you do is fuss over the necklace. _ Precious._”

Peter’s blush deepened. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he muttered defensively. He dared to peek at MJ out of the corner of his eye, relaxing minutely when he only saw her smiling fondly.

“It was perfect,” MJ reassured, voice a hushed whisper for his ears, and his ears only. She gripped the pendant through her shirt again, the way she always did whenever she needed to feel grounded. Touching her necklace—touching Peter’s gift to her—reminded her that she would never be alone, no matter where she was, because a part of him would always be with her.

It was cheesy, maybe—not at all her style—but that was just how it made her feel. Safe in the warmth of Peter’s affection. She let that warmth wash over her now, filling her face with a smile reserved for Peter alone.

“It _ is _perfect," she affirmed.

_Mysterio, for his part, saluted the crowd before twisting around and rocketing away dramatically, a cloud of green smoke trailing after him._

“God,” MJ breathed, clutching her necklace tighter, “it was all just a show to him, wasn’t it?” She shook her head, anger and shame tangling in her mind, and scoffed. 

(Loki silenced a sharp inhale and an alarmed demand of _ what the hell are you talking about, who is this Mysterio and what did he do to you?_)

Peter nodded jerkily. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah. We…”

“We never saw it,” MJ finished. “_None of us _saw it, Peter—it wasn’t just you.”

Peter ducked his head, embarrassed to have her call him out on his self-blame and self-loathing. It was a familiar cocktail by now—a taste he’d become acquainted with after he’d watched his mentor’s life drain away before his eyes.

“Right,” he mumbled, but he didn’t sound convinced. Maybe MJ was right—maybe everyone _ had _ been fooled—but it didn’t change the fact that _ he _ was the one who’d spent time in close quarters with Beck and still _ believed him. _

There had been signs, hadn’t there? There _ must _have been signs—he’d just been too blind and too desperate for another mentor, for a guiding hand on his shoulder and a patient smile and kind eyes, to see anything beyond the lie.

_ That _was on him.

_As Mysterio disappeared into the distance, EDITH promptly switched scenes to the hotel Peter was staying in. The Midtown students were gathered in the downstairs lounge, watching a news report on the battle and the mysterious hero on the TV._

_“It’s aliens,” Ned insisted, shaking his head. “It has to be.”_

_“Buzzfeed says there’s a sailor named Morris Bench who was exposed to an experimental underwater generator and got hydro powers,” Flash announced, reading off his phone. _

_MJ looked at Flash incredulously from where she was perched on the stairs. “Yeah, you should definitely believe everything you read on the internet,” she said sarcastically._

_“Spider-Man could take him,” Flash said, ignoring her._

“_Really_, kid?” Sam drawled. He looked like he was on the verge of a laugh. “Your _ bully _ is a fan of your _ alter ego_? That kind of irony is just…” he shook his head, snickering silently. “God, it’s damn near comedic is what it is.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun at my expense,” Peter deadpanned, but the tiny grin on his face betrayed his own amusement. 

“I’m pretty sure Flash is the captain of the Spider-Man Fan Club at our school,” Ned added thoughtfully. “Flash is a _ die-hard fan._”

MJ snickered. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Peter shot them both a half-hearted glare. “I still can’t believe that’s a _ thing,_” he said. “And if it _ is _ a thing, I’m disappointed _ you _ aren’t the captain, Ned.” He mimicked a wounded look, hand on his chest and eyes wide with exaggerated betrayal. “What happened to being my _ number one fan_?”

Ned just rolled his eyes, not even fazed by Peter’s theatrics. “Sorry, bud,” he said without an ounce of genuine regret, “but even I can’t hold up to Flash.”

Peter sniffed. “I guess I need a new best friend.”

“You two are complete _ idiots,_” MJ grumbled without any real heat behind her words. “Some people are actually trying to watch the footage, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter waved his hand dismissively. “You love us, really.”

MJ snorted. Peter beamed.

(Ned sighed, and, when asked by Loki, confirmed—_completely _ exasperated—that _ yes, they’re always like this, _ and _ yes, it’s exhausting._)

_“What do you think it is?” Mr. Harrington, on the other side of the room, asked his fellow chaperone as he nodded at the TV. _

_“You know, being a man of science…” Mr. Dell started, and then paused for a moment for emphasis, “witches.”_

Shuri and Tony, naturally, both cracked up _ immediately_.

Bruce just looked dumbfounded. “I… I have no words.”

Ned grinned. “Classic Mr. Dell.”

_Off to the side of the lounge, Peter was on the phone, far away enough from the cluster of students and teachers to go unheard. “No, no, no, no,” Peter was saying frantically. “We wanna stay. We wanna stay.”_

_May Parker’s voice came through the phone: “It’s a good thing that I packed your suit, huh?” As she spoke, EDITH switched footage to a shot of May in her office, back in New York. A life-size Spider-Man cutout stood behind her. “I can’t believe you forgot it.”_

_The video switched back to Peter, whose eyes fluttered closed in mild annoyance. “Yeah,” he lied. _

“Oh, Aunt May…” Ned couldn’t help but laugh. “‘Forgot,’ huh.”

“Yeah.” Peter shrugged. “Obviously I was _ trying _to intentionally leave it behind, but… Aunt May was just trying to be helpful. She thought she was doing the right thing.”

“Right. She wanted you to have Spider-Man with you on your trip, even though… even though what you _ needed _ was a break. To be a normal kid.” Ned ducked his head in shame, his laugh dying abruptly in his throat. “She wasn’t the only one. I – I’m _ sorry, _I shouldn’t have—”

“Wait, what?” Peter balked. “What on earth are you apologizing for?”

Ned twitched. “I wanted you to have your suit, too,” he pointed out. He couldn’t help but remember his instinctive reaction to seeing the water monster erupt from the canals—he’d instantly thought _ where’s the Spider-Man suit?_—and he flushed. He hadn’t even been thinking about Peter himself.

“Ned…” Peter looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. “Ned, _ no,_” he said firmly. “Don’t – don’t be sorry for that. Aunt May was _ right, _ in the end. You were _ both _ right. Spider-Man isn’t a part-time job I can drop over the summer; it’s a _ lifestyle_.” If only he’d accepted that sooner. “Danger is _ everywhere, _ and Spider-Man _ should have been there_.”

“P-Peter?”

Peter shook his head furiously. “I was being _ selfish,_” he said, hushed and contrite. “I was excited for the trip because I wanted a chance to…” _ to leave Spider-Man behind, to forget my responsibilities, to _ live_. _

But he couldn’t say any of that, not to Ned. At the end of the day, he’d always told Ned the _ cool _version of events. He’d never dared to tell Ned any of the gory details—the nightmares, the serious injuries, the traumas that Spider-Man left behind. 

To Ned, Spider-Man _was _the ‘ultimate life.’ Spider-Man was a _hero_ to Ned, nothing less, and Peter selfishly wanted things to stay that way. He wanted one person, at least, to see only the glamor, the _fun. _He didn’t want Ned to have to worry about him—he didn’t want to burden Ned with the harsher realities of being Spider-Man.

(He knew Ned _ knew, _ though, deep down. They both tried to ignore it, to pretend that side didn’t exist, but sometimes it was _ impossible _ to avoid. He knew Ned _ did _worry, more than he liked.

Peter didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for what he’d done to his friends; for forcing them to see into the tragedy behind the flawless superhero facade. This was _ his _cross to bear, and yet he’d dragged them into it.)

Peter sighed. “I wanted to distance myself from the superhero life,” he admitted finally, finding the remnants of a smile deep inside him and unearthing it. “I didn’t want to think about powers or super-suits or Avengers or anything like that. I just wanted to…” he trailed off uncertainly, shrugging.

“To be _ you_?” Ned offered, blinking rapidly to stave off an oncoming wave of tears.

Peter nodded tightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. _ But I can’t. I forsook that right the second I took up the mask. _

“Peter…” Ned hesitated.

“Beyond that, I didn’t think I _ had _ it in me to be a hero again—without Mr. Stark,” he rushed to say before Ned could try to comfort him. He didn’t deserve Ned’s understanding, not after what had happened during Fury’s first attempt to recruit him. Not after SHIELD had shown him what had happened—or what they _ believed _ had happened, at least—to Beck’s Earth and he’d _ still _ turned his back on his own Earth. Not when he’d said _ no. _

Ned pursed his lips, and Peter blustered on, “But with or without Iron Man, there was one thing Beck was right about—the people _ need _ a hero.”

Ned sucked in a sharp breath. Peter averted his eyes and looked away from his best friend’s searching gaze.

“You were _ already _ a hero,” Ned pointed out desperately, ignoring Peter’s visible discomfort. He just wanted to make Peter see himself the way _ Ned _saw him. 

Peter didn’t bother to argue—but he didn’t agree, either. He shifted in his seat, pointedly turning away from Ned, and thought privately to himself, _ Not a good enough one. Beck showed me that. I was just _ playing _ at being a hero. I need… _

_ I need to be better. _ (_I _ will _ be better._)

_“So, who was that guy that you were with?” May asked, frowning. “Was that Mr. Strange?”_

_“_Doctor_ Strange, May,” Peter corrected, closing his eyes again. From the look on his face, it was clear this was a debate they often visited. _

“Who the hell is _ Doctor Strange_?” Tony asked, scrunching his nose up in distaste. “What kind of superhero name is _ that_?”

“It's his real name, apparently,” Happy remarked.

“...you’re _ shitting _ me,” Tony chortled. “_Seriously_?”

Happy nodded, completely straight-faced. “He used to be a doctor—a neurosurgeon, I think—before an accident drove him down the superhero path,” he recalled. 

“A neurosurgeon?” Bruce blinked. 

“Supposedly, he was the best of the best,” Peter offered, still vehemently avoiding his best friend’s searching gaze. He forced his lips into a teasing grin, but he could tell that Ned wasn’t fooled. Ned knew him well enough to see through the charade and into the well of doubt bubbling up his throat: into their hushed argument—_the people need a hero _ and _ you were already a hero_—that still lingered on both their minds. 

Peter cleared his throat forcefully. “Which explains why he has an ego to match yours, Mr. Stark.”

Tony scoffed. “_Impossible_,” he denied, but he was grinning as well.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter confirmed. His eyes twinkled with barely suppressed laughter. “His sass would give you a run for your money, too.”

Tony scowled. Before he could refute that, though, Bruce interjected, “Wait, wait, wait—‘Dr. Strange’? Are you talking about _ Stephen Strange_?”

Happy arched an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said warily. “Huh, I guess maybe there’s a reason for his ego after all, if you recognize his name.”

“How did a skilled neurosurgeon become a superhero?” Bruce asked skeptically.

Happy and Peter exchanged a glance. When Peter turned back to Bruce, he had a crooked smirk on his face. “You know, Mr. Dell wouldn’t have been too far off if it had been Doctor Strange,” he said.

“...He’s a _ witch_?” Bruce blinked.

Peter burst out laughing, and the charade felt _ real, _ this time. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” he said, a broad grin twisting his lips even as Happy rolled his eyes beside him. “No, he’s not a witch exactly, but… he’s kind of a wizard? Well, he _ calls _himself a Master of the Mystic Arts, but really, that’s just fancy for ‘wizard’.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bruce muttered to himself. “I can’t believe things are going to get _ weirder _ than they _ already _are. How did this become my life?”

Steve patted his shoulder sympathetically. 

_“Doctor Strange,” Peter repeated. “And, um, no. I don’t know who that was. It was a new guy. I was trying to help him, but—”_

_“—Hey, Happy,” May’s voice cut him off. “No, that’s my lunch. Don’t eat that one.” In her office, May twisted around and gestured rapidly at the lunch Happy was currently diving into. _

_Peter froze. “Happy’s there?”_

“Oh, dear.” Tony laughed. “Happy, I can’t believe you’re visiting Peter’s aunt at her _ workplace_.”

“Yeah, Hap, that’s _ serious,_” Rhodey added, seamlessly joining in on Tony’s fun with an effortlessness that spoke of over a decade of friendship. Even now, disconnected by several years, they seemed perfectly in tune with one another.

Happy twitched in a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “_I’m _serious,” he pointed out. “Have you two ever known me to joke?”

Rhodey tilted his head. “Good point,” he conceded, then smirked. “_Forehead of Security._”

Tony choked, wide-eyed. _ Forehead of Security? _ he mouthed in delight.

Peter fought off a giggle and mimed high-fiving Rhodey, who winked at him.

Happy clamped a hand over Peter’s mouth to stop him from laughing, scowling indignantly. “No, don’t _ laugh, _Parker, that wasn’t funny. Jesus Christ,” he sighed, “you guys are terrible.”

_“Yeah, it’s Happy,” May replied, a goofy smile on her face. She shrugged and raised her eyebrows at Happy, who shook his head frantically and mouthed ‘no.’ Ignoring him, May carried on, “He’s here. He came by to volunteer.”_

_In Venice, Peter looked utterly gobsmacked, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw hanging open. _

_“And, uh, he’s hanging around the office,” May’s voice added. She approached Happy with her phone. “And he wants to say hi.”_

_“I don’t want—” Happy started in an insistent whisper, but as May continued to offer the phone to him, he reluctantly called out, “Hi, Peter.”_

Rhodey and Tony both _ cackled _with laughter, prompting Pepper to shake her head disapprovingly at the two of them. 

“Suck it up, Hap,” Rhodey teased, ducking to avoid Pepper’s half-hearted whack over the head. “If you meant what you said about being serious, you gotta make nice with the nephew.”

Happy grumbled incoherently at them both.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, only half-joking as he grinned up at his ‘babysitter’-turned-ally, “you’ve already won me over.”

Happy reluctantly smiled back. 

On the other side of the sofa, Ned and MJ exchanged a knowing glance, both of them thinking of the same thing: Happy Hogan, hands clenched into fists and eyes squeezed shut, blurting out _ I’m in love with Spider-Man’s aunt! _

_“Hey, Happy,” Peter replied cautiously, an audible questioning lilt to the greeting._

_May nodded encouragingly at Happy, who just withheld a groan and said, “I’m sorry, I’m working real hard here. I gotta do a – a leaflet drop.”_

_May was smiling indulgently at him._

In the audience, Peter turned to the side and pretended to retch obnoxiously.

_“What’re you doing…?” Peter began._

_“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Happy interrupted. “Don’t worry, I’m really taking care of your aunt.”_

_May _‘aww'_ed silently and blew Happy a quick kiss—_

“Oh, _ gross,_” Peter whined, “I did _ not _ need to see that.”

“…Shut up, kid.”

_—before retracting the phone. Walking back towards her desk, she refocused on Peter. “So, uh, how’s the plan going?” she changed the subject quickly, voiced hushed. _

_In his hotel lounge, Peter glanced sideways, catching Brad’s eye amongst the group of students. Turning away again, Peter hedged, “There’s been setbacks, for sure.”_

_“Don’t overthink it. Just trust your instincts and you’ll be fine,” May advised._

_“I know,” Peter sighed. “Love you. Bye.” _

“You should listen to your aunt,” MJ murmured, smiling with her eyes. The sheer fondness in her gaze struck Peter breathless. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” MJ nodded, determinedly not blushing. “You’ll be fine—plan or no plan—because it’s _ you._” _ It’s always been you, _she thought.

Peter smiled back, inwardly _ thrilled _at MJ’s quiet admission—and dark theatre or not, MJ felt the whole world light up around his smile.

_As Peter finished off his phone conversation, the camera’s attention darted to the students. “Who _is_ that guy?” Betty asked, eyes narrowed as she peered up at the TV, where an Italian newscaster droned on in the background of a clip of Mysterio firing his green blasts._

_“He’s like Iron Man and Thor rolled into one,” Brad offered._

Peter _ froze_. It was just a harmless comment, an innocent observation, but it was also so much _ more. _

Brad was _ right. _ Beck’s MO resembled the other Avengers’ too much to be coincidence—his flight patterns, his offensive attacks, _ everything _had a touch of Mr. Stark and Thor and even Dr. Strange mixed in. 

Beck had clearly known what he was doing, by imitating Iron Man’s powers. Already, he was trying to gain Peter’s trust by reminding him of his mentor; _ already, _he was weaving a web of lies that would eventually draw Peter in and entrap him.

Peter had been _ naturally _ drawn to Beck, who might as well have been a mirror of his late mentor—not just in battle, but also outside of it. Beck had emerged, donning the mask of a mentor when Peter had needed one most. He’d _ used _Peter’s grief for Mr. Stark against him.

The entire time, Beck had been pulling the strings. Beck had pulled _ every _string.

(Why hadn’t he _ seen _it? Why had he allowed himself to be sucked in?)

_Flash just scoffed. “He’s all right. He’s no Spider-Man.”_

_“What is it with you and Spider-Man?” MJ asked with a snort._

_“What? He’s just awesome, okay?” Flash retorted defensively. “He protects the neighborhood and, you know, he’s inspiring. He inspires me to be a better man.”_

“Oh,” Steve breathed, wide-eyed. Oh. _ Oh. _

Without meaning to, his mind flashed back to his earlier epiphany about how Spider-Man showed up everyday to patrol. He bit his lip and thought of Happy’s words, the same words that had been running through his mind like a broken record since he’d first heard them—_Peter’s there for them. If nothing else, realize that the people need heroes like Spider-Man. _

Flash’s words only reaffirmed Happy’s declaration. Witnessing Peter’s influence on people who didn’t know him personally as Spider-Man, on people who saw Spider-Man as an _ icon, _was breathtaking in every possible way. 

_ He inspires me to be a better man, _Flash had said. 

_ He inspires me. _

For some reason, Steve doubted that the Avengers had the same profound, deep impact on the ordinary people. The Avengers were _ heroes, _ sure, but could they _ inspire _ change in the same way Spider-Man did?

Steve had a feeling he already knew the answer.

_Peter had finally joined the group of students, catching the tail-end of Flash’s mini-speech. He slowed to a stop beside the staircase where MJ sat._

_Flash, noticing Peter’s arrival, cocked his head towards him, earnest sincerity disappearing behind a facade of arrogance. “‘Sup, dickwad?” he greeted with a drawl. “Thought you drowned,” Flash joked, turning back to the TV with a wink at Peter._

“_Oh_,” Tony hummed thoughtfully, startled by Flash’s wink. He remembered Peter’s fervent denial when he’d demanded to know if Flash was _ bullying _ him. At the time, he hadn’t understood why Peter had tried to _ defend _Flash against Tony’s accusations, but now…

There was something soft—an undercurrent of understanding, maybe, or even friendly teasing—underlying Flash’s rude remarks. The sign of a truce in the lilt and intonation of _ dickwad. _ A playful, easygoing undertone in the nuances of his voice as he’d quipped _ thought you drowned. _The hint of an inside joke in the way his lips had upturned at the corners and he’d winked at Peter.

_ Hmm. Not a bully, huh? _

Tony sought Peter out and found the kid rolling his eyes in something that could only be interpreted as fond exasperation. Maybe there was a reason why Peter had felt the need to defend Flash. Maybe there was more to Flash than met the eye after all.

_On the TV, the newscaster was in the middle of delivering her report in Italian._

_“Sounds like his name’s Mysterio,” Brad remarked after a while, catching the name on the rolling headline. _

_MJ squinted at the screen. “_L’uomo del Misterio _is Italian for ‘man of mystery’,” she corrected. Brad was nodding like a lost puppy, gazing at her with an impressed, reverent grin on his face. “They don’t actually know who he is.”_

_“Mysterio…” Ned tested out the name._

_After a beat, Ned and Betty chimed in at the same time: “Cool name.” _

_Another beat of silence ensued as the two realized what had happened. They turned towards each other, identical lovesick grins on their faces. “Babe!”_

“Oh, god, you two are so sweet you’re going to give me _ cavities_,” Rhodey cooed.

“Sure, the kids are adorable and all,” Tony snarked, “but really? _ That’s _where you guys got the name Mysterio from?”

MJ nodded. “Yep,” she said, not bothering to hide her distaste for the stupidity of the name.

“Hey,” Peter said, “you know how I feel about Brad, but you can’t deny that it’s at least a _ catchy _name.”

“Of course you’d like the name,” MJ said indulgently. “You’re the same guy who thought _ Spider-Man _was a good idea.”

“It’s not like I came up with my name either,” he defended himself. 

“Oh, yeah,” MJ said sarcastically, “because ‘_real superheroes don’t choose their names; their names are chosen for them._’”

Peter preened. “_Exactly. _ And who am I to say no when ‘Spider-Man’ just _ fits_?”

“Parker, you are a _ strange _mix of humble and self-congratulatory,” Loki remarked.

Ned tittered. “That’s what you get from a Gen Z hero,” he joked, shooting twin finger guns at the Norse god.

_On the other side of the room, Peter turned towards MJ and struck up a conversation. “So, how much of that did you actually see?”_

_“Not much,” MJ replied, facing him as well. “I was… running.”_

_“Right, me too,” Peter said quickly—too quickly. He nodded a little rapidly. “I was also running…” he paused, and then tacked on as if to clarify, “away.”_

Bubbling, boisterous laughter permeated the room. 

”Nice try, Pete,” MJ teased. “You need to work on your poker face a bit, but I appreciate the effort.”

Happy shook his head, unsure whether he should be amused or embarrassed by Peter’s complete inability to lie to the object of his affections. “You shouldn’t have clarified that part,” he admonished. “Any _ normal_”—Peter huffed in annoyance—“person would automatically assume you’d run _ away _from danger. You just made yourself look more suspicious.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter suppressed a pout. He’d always known he was a lousy liar—everyone told him so, from Aunt May (_you can’t lie to save your life, Petey, _ she chuckled, ruffling his hair teasingly, _ it’s one of the things I larb most about you_) to Mr. Stark (_band practice, kiddo, really? That’s the best you could come up with?_) to even the Black Widow (_Jesus, Spiderling, how the hell do more people not know your secret identity? All right, that’s it, I’m going to show you mercy and teach you how to be a better liar_).

So yeah, he was a lousy liar. Aunt May had always been proud of his transparency, his tendency to land on the side of the truth. 

(She’d been proud until she’d walked in on him dressed head-to-toe in his Spider-Man suit, eyes wide and horrified like those of a deer caught in headlights.

After that, well—she’d found herself proud of something else entirely. After an appropriate amount of yelling at him and Mr. Stark both, of course. She certainly hadn’t let them off easy, but…

Peter would never forget the day, almost two months after she discovered the secret of his _ extracurriculars_, when she’d finally sat him down and heaved a heavy sigh—as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders—and whispered, _ I know I can’t keep you from being Spider-Man forever, and I know… I know that Spider-Man is a part of _ who you are, _ beyond the flashy suit and the high-tech AI and all of the other accessories. God knows I wish I could stop you—just the thought of you going out there and possibly meeting the wrong end of a knife scares the hell out of me, but I know I – I can’t. I can tell you won’t give Spider-Man up for anything, and I think… I think I get it. Especially after Ben. I’m terrified, but that doesn’t mean I’m not so, so proud of you for fighting for everyone who can’t, so I promise I’ll let up on the grounding, okay? Or I’ll _ try _ to, at least? _

She’d smiled at him, then, strained and weary and tremulous, and Peter had felt a piece of his heart chip away. It continued to do so every day since, as more and more worry lines etched themselves onto May’s face. It had been a long time—far too long—since he’d seen her smile a _ real _ smile, bright and joyous and _ carefree_, unburdened by the constant worries of _ what if_.

_ What if he never made it home?_)

_MJ just stared, eyebrows raised._

_“So, Paris tomorrow,” Peter tried instead, desperate to break the awkwardness before MJ could turn away again. “Go to the Eiffel Tower. Should be great.”_

_“Yeah, I read it was secretly built as a mind control antenna to create an army of the insane,” MJ pitched in. _

_Peter froze. “Oh,” he croaked out, face contorting in a mixture of worry as he reevaluated his plan._

_But MJ was looking at him with a secretive grin. “Which is why it’s my favorite destination on the whole trip.”_

_Peter’s face broke out into a relieved grin. _

_MJ grinned back._

_After an extended moment, they seemed to realize they were simply staring at each other with dumb smiles on their faces and abruptly averted their eyes in sync._

“Aww,”—Rhodey grinned, pretending to wipe away a tear—“look at you, Pete: all grown up, making a move on your crush. It feels like just yesterday you were a little kid swinging around Queens in a _ onesie._”

Peter pouted petulantly. “I was _ not _a little kid,” he said sulkily, putting on his best, most intimidating scowl. Judging by Rhodey’s laugh, it was not very intimidating. “And I wasn’t in a onesie!”

“Sure, kid, whatever you say,” Rhodey humored him. When Peter wasn’t looking, though, the amused look on his face sobered. _ I wish Tony were here to see this, _ he couldn’t help but think. He snuck a glance at the Tony that _ was _here, and a wry smile climbed up his face at the sight of 2012 Tony’s half-entertained, half-conflicted expression.

(This Tony hardly _ knew _ Peter. Rhodey could tell he was already beginning to care about the kid and grow attached—he didn’t think he knew anyone who’d met Peter and _ hadn’t _ grown attached—but they were still practically _ strangers. _

This Tony hadn’t spent hours upon hours walking Peter through dozens of physics and engineering equations; he hadn’t spent consecutive nights binging various TV shows and movies; he hadn’t started stocking up on Fruit Loops and apple juice simply because they were Peter’s favorite; he hadn’t taught Peter how to properly tie a tie twenty minutes before Peter’s first Stark Industries gala; he hadn’t learnt Peter inside out.

This Tony had never called Peter his _ kid._)

_ His _Tony, though…

_ He’d be so pleased to see Peter interact with the girl of his dreams, _ Rhodey mused, _ just like a proud dad. _ The image that brought to his mind was such a stark contrast to his last memory of _ his _ Tony, eyes blood-shot and face gaunt, that he couldn’t help but sigh ruefully—wistfully. _ His _Tony was still mourning his kid, wishing he could see Peter again and drinking himself to oblivion every morning he woke up to find himself in a world where Peter was gone.

The thought of his Tony, desperately missing their Peter, felt like a punch in the gut. 

Rhodey looked away, unable to bear the sight of a Tony who was both his best friend and yet _ not_, a Tony who didn’t know what it felt like to have and to lose Peter, a Tony who was missing _ so many years. _

(It felt like a betrayal. _ His _Tony had lost his kid. This one didn’t even recognize Peter as such.)

Rhodey inhaled shakily. _ We’ll fix it. When we get home, we’ll make things right, _ he vowed to himself. _ Now that we know it’s _ possible_… we’ll fix _ everything, _ the _ right _ way—without losing anyone else_. (Especially not Tony.) _ We have to. _

He’d do anything to bring a smile back to his best friend’s face. (He’d do _ anything _ to give Tony _ hope _ again.)

_Another scene change later, Peter and Ned were standing in an empty hallway. “What are you gonna do about the water monster?” Ned asked._

_“Nothing,” Peter replied with a nervous chuckle. “It’s dead.”_

_When Ned just continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed and clearly unconvinced, Peter quickly added on, “Besides, that Mysterio guy’s all over it. Look... I just wanna spend some time with MJ,” he insisted, heading towards their shared room, toothbrush in hand. “We were talking about Paris and... I think she really likes me.” He turned to Ned with a shrug and a shy, embarrassed smile at the admission. _

MJ blushed furiously, but when Peter turned to her with a shit-eating grin, she hastily masked her embarrassment with an unamused expression.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Peter crowed.

MJ scrunched her nose up at him. “It would be really awkward if you weren’t,” was all she had to say to that.

_“That’s nice,” Ned commented with a grin of his own, following Peter into their room. “Reminds me of when Betty and I first fell in love. I had _just_ finished my first fruit cobbler, right—?”_

_Before he could finish his storytelling, he was interrupted by a tranquilizer dart in his neck. He slumped over and collapsed onto his bed with a loud _thud_. The bed springs squeaked under his weight. _

_Peter, startled, immediately turned around from where he had been brushing his teeth. He stared openmouthed at his unconscious best friend._

“Oh, my god!” 

“Jesus—”

“What the _ heck_!?”

Ned inhaled sharply, mind torn between horror at seeing himself lying seemingly lifelessly in a hotel room in Venice, and delight at being shot by a _ superspy _ who also happened to be _ the Director of SHIELD. _

“No, seriously, what the_ heck_!?” Sam repeated. “How did—? _ Who_—? What just happened?”

Ned flinched at the sound of Sam’s startled exclamation. He could sense Sam’s, and _ everyone else’s_, stares on him and frowned, lowering his head and ardently avoiding their unasked questions. 

He didn’t have any answers. Well, technically, he _ did_, but…

All he knew came from Peter, eyes wide as he bounced giddily on his bed, half out of shock and half out of anxiety, and whispered in a hushed voice, _ Nick Fury was here! Nick Fury shot you with a tranq gun! Nick Fury wants to recruit me for a big Avengers-level mission. Nick Fury! _

_ Nick Fury? _

_ Nick. Goddamn. Fury. _

_ Holy crap! _

_ I know, _ Peter had hissed. He'd looked as if he still couldn’t quite believe it himself. _ Holy crap. _

So yes, Ned might have the answers, but they weren’t his to tell. This was _ Peter’s _ story; Ned barely even remembered this night. All _ he _ remembered was waking up to a shaken best friend and _ oh my god, Ned, you will never believe what just happened! _

(What Peter had really been thinking, racked with guilt and self-loathing, was_ you will never believe what I just did._ _You will never believe what I just turned down. You will never believe what a monster I’ve become._)

(Ned should have known, back then. He was Peter’s _ best friend. _ He’d _ been _Peter’s best friend since they were just little kids running around the playground, blind to the future their paths would lead them towards.

He should have _ known. _ Should have realized Peter felt disconnected from the superhero life; should have realized Peter _ resented _ himself for that disconnection. It shouldn’t have taken Peter spelling it out to him—outright saying _ I didn’t think I had it in me to be a hero again, without Mr. Stark_—to _ open his eyes. _

He was Peter’s best friend. His wingman, his brother, his guy in the chair. How could he have _ not _known?)

This was Peter’s story, because _ Ned hadn’t known. _ It should be Ned’s story, too. Ned should have _ been there_—for Peter, and _ with _ Peter. _ Isn’t that what being a Friend of Spider-Man means—being there? Peter’s busy saving us all, but he needs saving, too. _

He couldn’t stop thinking about how he should have known. And about how he _ would _know, next time. He wouldn’t let Peter suffer in silence again. 

Ned exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh. “Wait and see,” he said to Sam, letting his lips quirk upwards into a gleeful grin. He knew Peter was afraid of burdening them—Ned and MJ and Aunt May and even Happy—with fearing for his life every night. He could at least put on a smile for Peter, if that was what it took to convince him he was not, and could never _ be_, a burden. “Just you wait. You’re about to witness the _ coolest _experience of my life, hands down.”

“Being shot is a _ cool _experience?” Scott wrinkled his brows.

Peter, on the other hand, snorted. “I thought you said finding out I’m Spider-Man is the coolest experience of your life,” he pointed out.

“Nah, being shot definitely outranks Spider-Man,” MJ said nonchalantly, flashing Peter a teasing smirk. 

Peter stuck his tongue out at her, and she burst out in uproarious laughter.

“I wasn’t ‘_shot_’ shot,” Ned reminded for Scott’s benefit. “It was just a tranq gun.” _Nick Fury’s tranq gun! I was tranqed by a _spy_. That’s practically the definition of awesome. _“And _really_? Come on, break it up, you two,” he groaned. “Stop flirting or I swear, I’m going to throw up.”

“That was _ flirting_?” Clint asked incredulously.

“Oh, yeah,” Ned said with an eye-roll. “I forgot you guys don’t understand MJ-speak. See, when she says, _ being shot outranks Spider-Man, _ what she _ actually _ means is, _ being shot outranks Spider-Man, but it doesn’t outrank you because Peter Parker outranks Spider-Man, too. _”

Clint blinked.

MJ huffed and flicked Ned’s forehead in annoyance. “Shut up, Ned,” she complained. “Stop exposing me. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

“Your reputation is already a goner,” Peter scoffed.

“Translation: _ you don’t need to maintain a facade in front of me, MJ, I like you as you are,_” Ned chimed in, adopting an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice as he imitated Peter.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “What’s up with that voice?” he protested in lieu of arguing Ned’s interpretation. “I do _ not _sound like that! And why does your version of me have a higher voice than your version of MJ, anyway?”

Ned winked at Peter, an easy grin on his face. “Face it, Peter. You’re a puppy. An overexcited and overeager _ puppy. _Therefore, the voice. Also,” he added thoughtfully, “MJ would strangle me if I tried to give her a squeaky, overly girly voice, and I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”

“You do realize I’m the only one of us with actual powers, right?”

“A puppy, Peter,” Ned reminded him. “You’re about as intimidating as a puppy.”

“Alright, alright, all _ three _of you need to break it up,” Happy interjected, clapping a hand over Peter’s mouth before the crime-fighting teenager could argue. “We have more footage to get back to, and we don’t have all day.”

“Actually, I think EDITH’s point is that we _ do—_”

“_Ned,_” Happy said in his trademark ‘Be Warned’ voice. Ned wisely clamped his mouth shut, and Happy nodded in satisfaction. 

As he glanced around the room, Happy’s satisfaction only _ grew. _ The trio might not have realized it, but their effortless banter had helped return the room to its tentative calm. Instead of the shock and worry that had previously been on their companions’ faces, there was now only amusement.

_“You’re a very difficult person to contact, Spider-Man,” a familiar voice interjected into the apprehensive silence, immediately replacing amusement with renewed shock. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so tbh I was originally planning to go on until after Peter's introduction to Beck in this chapter, but I was struggling to flesh out some reactions in the next segment of the film (and this half was already getting kind of long) so I just decided to split the chapter into two chunks. (This also means that the one-on-one Iron Dad & spiderling interaction will have to be postponed, but it _is_ coming, I promise!) Anyway, other than the last few reaction scenes I still have to finish up, I have the next chapter pretty much ready, so hopefully I'll be able to get that up soon! 
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments and kudos! Let me know what you thought about this chapter down below or on Tumblr ([@iron-loyalty](https://iron-loyalty.tumblr.com)) :)


	9. Part V: Say Hello to Quentin Beck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Spider-Man: Far From Home' continues to unravel onscreen, revealing a certain conversation between Fury and Peter. As Fury's initial attempt to recruit Queens' beloved web-slinger comes to light, the Avengers and co. have... _mixed_ reactions.

_Peter whipped his head around to gaze at the opposite corner of the room, toothbrush still in his mouth. Through the mirror above the sink, the audience could see Nick Fury in a shaded corner of the room, lounging comfortably on a couch with his tranquilizer gun still aimed at Ned._

“_FURY_!” Fury’s name was an instinctive half-snarl, half-animalistic-roar that ripped itself from Rhodey’s mouth. The colonel lunged to his feet in a single sharp, jerky movement, before he whirled around to pin Fury with a furious glare. “Are you _kidding _me!?”

In the face of Rhodey’s blatant outrage, Fury merely pressed his lips into a thin line, offering him and the rest of the audience no words of justification. 

“You’ve _got _to be kidding me,” Rhodey reiterated, seething. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “He’s a _teenager. _You _shot a teenager._”

“It’s only a tranq gun!” Hill was quick to defend her boss. “It’s perfectly harmless. And besides, it doesn’t seem as though Mr. Leeds was at all adversely affected by this event.” She tossed a nod at Leeds himself, who was currently grinning up at the screen with far more excitement than should be normal. She hadn’t forgotten Leeds’ response to the scene, after all—he’d outright called it “the _coolest_ experience” of his life.

Rhodey glowered at her. “Tranq gun or not, he just shot a _teenager_.” He turned to Fury, eyes narrowed and unforgiving. “And I have a distinct feeling that you aren’t here for a social call. I swear, if you get Peter involved in any of your shady _bullshit_—”

He broke off with a shake of his head, leaving the rest of his words unspoken. He didn’t need to finish his sentence—they could all hear the underlying threat.

“If you’re waiting for an apology,” Fury finally broke his silence, seemingly unfazed, “you’re going to be disappointed, because I’m not about to seek forgiveness for something I _haven’t_ done.” True to his words, even his voice was flat, empty of any remorse or guilt. 

Rhodey growled. “Whether you’ve done this yet or not, you’re _still _that man. Your values are _exactly the same_.” 

For the first time since his future self had appeared on the screen, Fury broke his stare-down with himself and turned his face _an inch _to glance at Rhodey out of the corner of his eye. If one looked closely enough, they might even be able to interpret the look on his face as _troubled_. 

Bulldozing onwards, Rhodey carried on, “I’m sure that even now, all you see when you look at that _kid _on the screen is Spider-Man. To you, Peter Parker might just be another pawn on the chessboard, but he is _so much more _to _so many others_.” Rhodey thought of his best friend, wasting away with a bottle in one hand and a framed picture of himself and Peter Parker in the other. He thought of just yesterday, when his best friend had video-called him in a panic in the dead of night, eyes haunted, and broken down crying at the sight of Rhodey because _oh god, I dreamt you were dead too, I – I dreamt I was all alone._ He thought of his best friend destroying himself over the thought that he’d lost Peter Parker. 

“He is _so much more,_” Rhodey repeated. In all the years he’d known Tony, he’d _never _seen him act the way he did with Peter with anyone else. “And he’s a _kid_, goddamnit. _Let him _be a kid.” _Please._

Fury flinched minutely, unnoticeable to all. _Just a kid. _He thought back to the last kid he’d ever let himself care about, long before the title of Director of SHIELD had even been a possibility for him. 

She’d be horrified to see what he would one day become, he thought. They _all _would.

He’d made them a promise. He’d made _himself _a promise, the day he became Director. He’d vowed he would make a difference—the _right _difference. Today, he looked sidelong at Peter Parker across the room, curled into Hogan’s side, and wondered when all of that would change. Wondered if that had _already _changed.

_He reminds me of her, _Fury thought. _Her _and _her pseudo second mom. _He could tell Peter was intrinsically _good_, in the same sort of way Carol was. Peter had a heart of gold to rival hers—and the willingness to _do _something with that heart of gold.

To make a difference, too.

_What would you have thought, Danvers? _he wondered. From across the room, Peter rolled his eyes at something Happy said and stuck his tongue out at the gruff bodyguard. Not for the first time, Fury couldn’t help but see Carol in him. 

_I think you’d like him, _he mused.

_After a stunned moment of silence, Peter tore the toothbrush out of his mouth. “You’re Nick Fury,” he breathed. Realization hit him, and he whirled around to face his friend again. “And you just shot Ned!”_

_“It’s just a mild tranquilizer,” Fury reassured. “He’ll be alright.” As if to prove he was here in peace, he turned the gun over and rested it lightly on his knee. “So good to finally meet you. I saw you at the funeral, but I didn’t think that was a good time to exchange numbers.”_

Pepper stiffened, the breath stolen from her lungs. _The funeral. _

_Tony’s _funeral, he meant. Because her fiancé was _dead _in some not-so-far-off future. 

She’d already known that, of course—had tried (and _failed_) to process it—but somehow, listening to Fury talk about a _funeral_ made it a thousand times more real. 

She didn’t want to have to think about funerals and coffins and _losing Tony forever._ She didn’t want to have to think about _any _of that. 

They were supposed to get _married. _They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together, to build a family and grow old and _be happy. _

(_He _made her happy.)

Instead, the love of her life was supposed to die within _five years. _

_Only _five.

Pepper didn’t know how to handle that.

“Pep.”

She jerked upright at the feel of Rhodey’s hand landing on her shoulder. 

The tension in Rhodey's eyes drained away as he forced himself to set his frustrations with Fury aside. He could make sure that Fury would stay the _hell _away from Peter Parker later. Right here, right now, he had to be strong for Pepper. With a slight nod, Rhodey smiled at her, warm and comforting—the same way he’d smiled at her the first time they’d all had dinner together after she and Tony became an item, and the same way he’d smiled at her when she’d broken down on the tenth day after the Blip and Tony’s disappearance in space.

Reassuring. Calm. Confident.

“He’s going to be _fine_, Pep,” Rhodey murmured, and Pepper clung to the certainty in his voice with abject desperation. “We’ll be there to save him.”

Pepper couldn’t do anything but nod and _hope._

_“No, that would’ve been really inappropriate,” Peter agreed, stammering with lingering shock._

_“That’s what I just said.”_

_Peter swallowed. “Right.”_

_“The important thing is, you’re here,” Fury cut off Peter’s palpable nerves. “I tried to bring you here. You avoided me, and now you’re here. What a coincidence.”_

_“Wait,” Peter interjected, his voice hushed. He pointed at the floor as if to encapsulate the hotel in particular, Venice as a whole, and the trip in general. “_Was_ this a coincidence?”_

“Why am I getting the feeling that the answer to that is _no_?” Tony muttered to himself, sarcasm and bitter resentment dripping from his voice in equal measure.

_Fury didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. “I used to know _everything_. Then, I come back five years later and now, I know _nothing_. No intel, no team, and a _high school kid _is dodging my calls.”_

Fury swallowed at the confirmation that he had been—or _would be_, in his perspective—Blipped away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what would be worse—coming back to find out that five years had gone by without him, or having to _live _through those five years with half the world missing.

He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine losing everything—he didn’t _want to _imagine it. For someone like him, someone who had a finger in practically every pie, being displaced by the Blip and having to reacclimate to an entirely different world sounded like a nightmare. 

Information was his bread and butter; it was what made his world turn on its axis.

Without information, without _knowledge, _what did he have? Without SHIELD, who _was _he?

_“Here’s what I _do_ know,” Fury continued, taking out a pocket-sized triangular projector and placing it on the table in front of him. The device whirred to life as a holographic, interactive image of the globe appeared above it. Red dots were scattered all over the planet. “A week ago, a village in Mexico was wiped out by a cyclone.”_

_Peter approached the hologram cautiously as the projection of the Earth was replaced by video clips. _

_“Witnesses say that cyclone had a face.” In one of the video clips, the audience could see civilian crowds fleeing a hurricane in the distance._

_Before either of them could say anything more, a loud snore interrupted the discussion. Peter and Fury both whipped their heads around to stare at Ned, who let out another snore._

Much to Fury’s chagrin, Natasha and Clint both broke out into sudden, boisterous laughter at the sound of Ned’s untimely snore. 

“Your _face_—!” Clint wheezed out, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes out of sheer amusement. “Oh, _god. _You – you look like a wet cat, _oh my god._”

He scowled at them in annoyance. “Shut up, Barton,” he grumbled under his breath.

He turned to Hill for support, only to find her shoulders shaking minutely, silent laughter rolling off her in waves. 

His scowl deepened. “Not you, too,” he groaned.

Hill _cracked, _turning away and dissolving in exuberant laughter loud enough to make Fury close his eyes and sigh in defeat. _Traitors, _he thought irritatedly, _all of you._

_“Three days later,” Fury’s voice called back Peter’s attention, “a similar event in Morocco. A village was—”_

_Fury’s explanation was cut off yet again, this time by a knock on the door. Fury silenced himself immediately, raising his gun in the direction of the doorway in an unspoken threat. _

“Are you _kidding _me,” Fury huffed, deadpan, as Clint _roared _with laughter so hard he rolled off the sofa and fell onto the floor.

_Mr. Harrington stood in the threshold, completely oblivious to the tranq gun aimed at him. “Just making the rounds,” he announced his presence. “See if anyone needs any emotional counseling after today’s traumatic events.” _

_As the clueless chaperone continued to speak, Fury lifted his gun a little higher, aiming directly at the other man. Mr. Harrington couldn’t see it, but Peter certainly could, prompting him to shoo Mr. Harrington away desperately: “No, we’ll be okay. We’re – we’re fine. Thank you.”_

_“Great, ‘cause I’m not qualified to actually…”_

_Ned’s snores made themselves known once again. _

_“Oh, he’s passed out,” Mr. Harrington whispered, finally taking note of the unconscious student. He shot Peter a sheepish grin and reiterated, “Not really qualified to do it anyway, so… good night.” He closed the door as he left. _

_“That was my teacher,” Peter explained, flustered. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”_

_Fury looked exasperated, his remaining eye twitching visibly. “A village was destroyed by what may well be another world-threatening—”_

_Another round of knocks came at the door. “Babe, you still awake?” Betty’s voice slithered through. “You’re not answering any of my texts.”_

“Holy hell, this is _priceless_,” Tony piped up. “The_ Director of SHIELD_ getting interrupted by clueless civilians is the _best_ thing I’ve ever seen.”

“_Tony_,” Steve chided with a roll of his eyes, but even Captain Righteous had to smile.

_“Um, he’s asleep, Betty,” Peter called out. _

_“Oh, already?” Betty sounded surprised._

_“Mm-hmm,” Peter confirmed nervously. Unseen by Betty on the other side of the door, Peter’s brows knitted and he pressed his lips together like he’d swallowed a frog. “Yeah.”_

_“Okay,” Betty replied._

_Fury barely waited for her to leave before jumping back in, “That’s why it’s imperative—”_

_This time, he barely got out half a sentence before he was interrupted for seemingly the umpteenth time. “Hey, boys!”_

“I guess even fate doesn’t want you dragging Peter into your mess,” Rhodey said smugly, still visibly frustrated by Fury’s decision to approach Peter during what was _supposed _to be his vacation. “This is absolutely a sign telling you to _back the hell off._”

Fury glowered.

_“So, that canal water today was filled with dangerous bacteria…” _

_Mr. Dell’s voice faded into the background as Fury threatened, eyes flashing with indignation, “Another person touches that door, you and I are going to attend another funeral.” He rose to his feet, impatience clearly lining his every action, and retrieved his projector. “Suit up.” _

Rhodey groaned. “_Damnit, _Fury.”

_“…let me know if either of you develops vomiting,” Mr. Dell finished._

* * *

_EDITH abruptly cut to another scene, framing the familiar canals of Venice. Fury and Peter, dressed in his Spider-Man suit, were making their way along the water on a small boat. _

_“Stark left these for you,” Fury said, face impassive as if he wasn’t imparting a part of Tony Stark’s legacy to Peter. He barely even spared Peter a glance._

_“Really?” Peter swallowed._

_Fury didn’t reply, merely lifting his hand and offering Peter a small case. Peter accepted it quietly, words failing him. _

_Slowly, almost reverently, he opened the case to reveal a pair of glasses. Tucked into the case along with the spectacles was a simple business card emblazoned with the logo of Tony’s company._

Pepper swallowed, recognizing the glasses—and recognizing the moment for what it was. She’d seen those same glasses on Tony so many times as he’d tinkered around in his lab, surrounded by metal suits—both his own, and Peter’s Spider-Man suit.

Even after Peter’s death, Tony hadn’t been able to let go of his memory, constantly improving a suit that—as far as Tony believed—would never again be worn.

Tony had never been able to cope with Peter’s death, with what he perceived as his own failure. Pepper _knew _her fiancé blamed himself. She knew it in the way Tony sometimes picked up his phone and listened to the familiar tune of _hey, you’ve reached Peter Parker, _knew it in the way his eyes would glaze over during the day and he’d mouth Peter’s name as if in a trance, knew it in the way nightmares would chase away Tony’s sleep.

(She knew it in the way nightmares would haunt _her._ Nightmares of twenty-one days waiting and praying for Tony to come home, and nightmares of the overwhelming anguish in Tony’s eyes when he’d collapsed in front of the Compound with a broken whisper of _I lost the kid_.)

Tony had never forgotten. Had never let go and _moved on._

Those glasses only reinforced that idea, that _knowledge. _Pepper wasn’t even surprised to find that a future version of Tony would one day entrust those glasses to Peter Parker. _This _Tony seemed stunned speechless by the revelation that he’d left Peter a part of his legacy—Pepper could tell that he was already growing fond of Peter, but there was a difference between fondness and love—but to _her_ Tony… To her Tony, it wouldn’t have even been a question. 

Pepper _knew, _after all, how important Peter had been—and still was—to her fiancé. 

(Unlike this Tony, hers knew the difference; hers knew exactly what it meant to love Peter Parker as if he were his own child.)

_Peter must have recognized the glasses, too, because he darted a stunned glance at Fury, the white eyes on his mask widening to conform to his shock._

_“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,’” Fury quoted, voice growing somber. He turned to Peter finally, an unreadable expression on his face. “Stark said you wouldn’t get that because it’s not a Star Wars reference.” The gravity of the moment broke as Fury scoffed. _

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Star Wars, huh?” he asked with an affected tone of indifference. He fought to keep his composure in the face of his future self leaving Peter an endowment in the event of his death. How did Fury know to give those to Peter? Had his future self _prepared—_? (Prepared to such an extent that Fury knew that little detail about Peter’s love of Star Wars, no less?)

He shook his head and tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about _preparing _for his death, about _knowing _his death was coming and being unable to do anything to stop it. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, laughing tearfully. “You – the other Mr. Stark, I mean—he, uh, he hated all of my pop culture references. Even though they _totally _come in handy during battle.”

“Don’t remind me,” Scott grumbled, shuddering as he remembered Spider-Man’s use of _Star Wars battle strategies _of all things against him in Leipzig. 

Peter’s laugh came out less tearful this time, more solid. 

_Peter said nothing, closing the case with a quiet but final _click_. He lifted his gaze and faced _forward_, looking ahead to the future. _

_Before long, Fury and Peter arrived at their intended destination: one of SHIELD’s headquarters. EDITH carefully left the rest of the route out of her footage to ensure SHIELD’s continued secrecy and security._

_“You can lose the mask,” Fury told Peter as he led the young superhero into the underground base, dimly lit by only a few sparse lamps. “Everyone here’s seen you without it. You’d only be feigning anonymity and breathing through spandex for no good reason.”_

_Peter paused for a moment as Fury entered the base ahead of him. After a reluctant moment, he pulled off his mask, eyes wide and hair unkempt._

_“Come on,” Fury called out, offscreen._

_“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. He shook his head as if to ground himself in the present, and then wordlessly followed Fury in. _

_As he headed inside, the camera flipped around and took in the interior of the base, lined with dozens of computers and high-tech equipment. _

_“Over there, we have Maria Hill,” Fury introduced, gesturing in the general direction of the female agent. “That,”—the camera focused on a bearded man in a leather jacket, holding a rifle in his hands—“is Dmitri. And this…”_

_Peter slowed to a stop halfway into the base, shock clear on his face. His eyes were wide._

_“…is Mr. Beck.”_

“_At last, _we have a name,” Tony said with exaggerated glee. “So it’s ‘Beck’, huh? Does this mean you’ll finally tell us who he is?”

“I…” Peter shook his head, unable to verbalize the answer he _knew _needed to be said. Of all the people he wanted to admit his failures to, Mr. Stark was the last. He _hated _disappointing his mentor. He’d done it before, and he’d promised himself it would never happen again.

Except it had, and now he had to face the music. He had to own up to his mistakes and accept Mr. Stark’s disapproval _all over again. _

Peter sniffed. _God, _he thought, _Mr. Stark never should have picked me. I don’t deserve EDITH, not after what I did. _His lips twisted into a frown. Mr. Stark would turn in his grave if he knew what Peter had done with his trust. 

(Most days, Peter couldn’t understand _why _Mr. Stark had chosen him in the first place. _Why _had Mr. Stark left _him, _of _all _people, EDITH? _Why _had Happy believed that “picking him” was the one thing Mr. Stark hadn’t second-guessed?

Why _him_?)

“You’ll find out soon enough, Tony,” Happy stepped in when Peter found himself at a loss for words, covering for Peter without hesitation. “Stop hounding the kid, geez.”

Tony rolled his eyes at Happy’s scolding. “Yeah, yeah,” he groaned. “‘Wait and see.’ I get the gist.”

“Good,” Happy huffed sternly. When he turned to face Peter, the unrelenting expression on his face softened, giving way to a much warmer look. “What’s with that look, kid?” he prodded gently. “You look like you’re about to head to your own execution. What’s on your mind, huh?”

Peter swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell him?” he asked in lieu of answering.

Happy just narrowed his eyes at him. “Why didn’t you?” he countered.

Peter looked away, shame-faced. “I let him down,” he muttered sullenly. “You were wrong. _He_ was wrong to pick me.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Happy argued. “What I said in that jet… I_ meant _it, Peter. He never second-guessed his choice when it came to you. And if he were still around…” He faltered, a hint of anguish flashing across his expression for a _fraction _of a second before he steeled himself and continued, as comfortingly as he could, “If he were here and he knew what happened, he _still _wouldn’t regret choosing you. He was _so _proud of you, kid.”

Peter shrunk away, a full-body flinch running through him. _He wasn’t, _he wanted to deny, but even as the thought ran through his mind, he knew it was wrong; he could still feel the imprint of Mr. Stark’s arms around him, the ghost of a kiss pressing against his cheek, the echo of a whispered _kid _rattling in his skull. Mr. Stark _had _been proud of him, beyond all reason.

“He shouldn’t have been,” he said instead of arguing the facts staring him in the face.

Happy scowled at him. “Stop that,” he snapped. “_So_ _what_ if you made mistakes? The important thing is that you didn’t _run _from your mistakes. You faced them head-on; you _fixed _them. You confronted Beck instead of hiding from the problem. You _made it right._”

Peter swallowed, Happy’s words clinging tightly to him. He wanted so _desperately _to accept them as truth. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that Happy was _right_—that it _did _matter that he’d taken responsibility for his errors and cleaned up his mess. 

(Even if it didn’t _erase _the fact that he’d made that mess in the first place.)

Happy tilted his head. “Look, you asked me why I didn’t tell him,” Happy said. “It’s because the purpose of EDITH compiling this footage _isn’t_ to showcase Quentin Beck. Well, maybe a _little _bit, but only in that EDITH seeks to show the public that Beck is an _asshole _who _took advantage _of an innocent kid. More to the point: _I don’t care about Quentin Beck. _As far as I’m concerned, this is about _you. _It’s about you finding your strength, about you overcoming Beck’s illusions, and about _you_ becoming your own hero—though I’m still of the opinion that you were _already _a hero.”

Happy paused. 

Peter stared, his heart suspended in time, and waited with bated breath as Happy seemed to come to a decision.

Happy nodded jerkily. “This is _your _story, Peter,” he said, his voice stilted yet _earnest. _It was clear he felt uncomfortable, but he didn’t try to take it back or deny his sincerity. “Let them see Beck through _your_ eyes. That _is _why EDITH did all of this, after all. Project Freedom, was it?”

Peter nodded wordlessly, his voice lodged in his throat. He couldn’t _speak, _couldn’t do anything but listen and try to _breathe _through it all. Happy had _never _been the type to spill his gut or wear his heart on his sleeve—not with him, at least. Before today, the most emotional interaction he’d had with Happy was their conversation on the quinjet, words hushed and almost _reverent, _a balm to soothe Peter’s broken heart and red-rimmed eyes.

Happy offered a one-shouldered shrug, his smile small but genuine. “Beck already showed the world _his _side of the story—fabricated though it was. Now it’s your turn to get _your _truth out.”

_His _truth. Peter inhaled sharply, exhaled… and _breathed._

_EDITH followed Peter’s line of sight to the same cape-wearing stranger who fought off the water monster earlier that day. He was standing in the middle of the room, right by a large table._

_“Mysterio?” Peter whispered as the man turned around, flashes of blue glowing under his armor. _

_The man—Mr. Beck—blinked. “What?”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” Peter shook it off, remembering where he was. He chuckled nervously. “It’s just what my friends have been calling you.” _

_“Well,”—the man smiled easily, walking forward with a proffered hand—“you can call me Quentin.”_

“Oh, shit. Shit shit _shit_,” Pepper hissed in a panic, her mind _racing _to put two and two together. “_Quentin Beck_? I _know _that name.”

“Really?” Tony asked. “It sounds _familiar, _sure, but…”

“Of course you don’t remember him,” Pepper said, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t even surprised. “He’s—”

“_Pepper_,” Peter cut in, stopping her before she could reveal Beck’s unstable history with Stark Industries and the part he played in the B.A.R.F. project. He could tell she knew _exactly_ who Quentin Beck was by now—he knew by the tension in her shoulders, by the terror-struck look in her eyes, by the quiver in her voice. He _knew._

Tony clearly didn’t remember, no doubt because back in 2012, Quentin Beck was still just one of the many nameless faces roaming the halls of Stark Industries. As far as Peter knew, after all, the entire B.A.R.F. incident wouldn’t occur until _years_ after 2012, right before the Accords debacle. There was no reason yet for Tony to even know Quentin Beck’s name, but _Pepper…_

There was _no way_ Pepper had forgotten. 

Indeed, Pepper turned to him with knitted brows, curiosity burning her tongue. “Peter, wha—?”

Peter shook his head stiffly. “Don’t,” he implored, Happy’s hand a heavy, comforting weight on his shoulder, “_please._”

Pepper frowned, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to explain his reasoning. Pepper wouldn’t understand—not like Happy understood. Unlike Pepper, Happy _knew _his story. Happy _knew _“his truth”—he knew how Quentin Beck had blurred the lines between reality and fantasy in Peter’s mind. 

Pepper didn’t know any of that. So although it would probably be easier to just let Pepper air the truth about Quentin Beck and _get it out there_ (read: _get it over with_), Happy had a point: it was time for him to share _his _truth, and that included believing Quentin Beck was on his side.

(Beyond all that, beyond logic and reason, Peter just wanted to _forget_ all about the way Beck had deluded him. And if that wasn’t possible, he wanted to at least avoid the weight of his mistakes for as long as he could—to pretend that he hadn’t _screwed up _so _spectacularly_. 

Because no matter what Happy said, he _had _screwed up. Even if he’d fixed it in the end, it didn’t change the events that led to that ending. 

Ignoring the reality of Quentin Beck was _impossible_ in his own world, but _here_, in EDITH’s manifestation of a self haven, he could pretend all he wanted.)

Pepper fell silent and, all at once, remembered what EDITH had said at the very beginning—that this entire project was designed to “clear Peter’s name.” 

Her stomach sank as she tried to make sense of _why_ Peter’s name would need clearing.

(Peter hadn’t said anything about it, but she couldn’t help the gut feeling that Quentin Beck had _something_ to do with the need for such a project.)

_“You handled yourself well out there today,” Beck complimented with an acknowledging nod as Peter shook his hand briefly. “I saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you on my world.”_

Bucky broke out into incredulous spluttering. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Rewind. _Did he just say_—”

“I think he did,” Scott interrupted, dazed.

“What the _hell _does he mean by that?” Sam choked out. “‘_My_ world’!? I— _what_?”

_“Thanks,” Peter said shyly, looking all at once embarrassed and pleased by Beck’s praise. After a split-second, his eyes narrowed as his mind fully processed Beck’s statement—“I’m sorry. _Your_ world?” _

“Exactly,” Sam nodded sharply. Peter’s bamboozled expression seemed to perfectly express his own thoughts on the matter. “Me, too, kid. Me, too.”

_“Mr. Beck _is_ from Earth,” Fury cut in. “Just not yours.”_

Peter’s eyes widened as he caught on to Fury’s strange wording—the way he’d said _just not yours _instead of _just not ours_, so casually it could have simply been a slip of the tongue if not for the fact that this was _Nicholas Joseph Fury_—for the first time. Back when it had actually happened, he’d been far too distracted by _everything else_ to notice it, but _now, _watching his past experiences unfold from a different perspective, there was no way he could have _missed _it. 

_Not… yours? Why would he say that? What could that mean? _Peter wondered, biting his lip in thought. Deep down, it felt like a knife to the gut to discover something _else _he’d failed to pick up on.

He lowered his gaze and gritted his teeth. How much had he missed? How much had he failed to see—_refused _to see—because he’d been too busy burying his head in the sand after losing his mentor? 

Peter wasn’t the only one who noted Fury’s odd choice of phrasing. Nick Fury himself, sitting all the way across the room, straightened abruptly at the sound of his own statement. His gaze sharpened. _‘Yours’? _he echoed to himself, startled by his own diction. 

“Fury,” Natasha started, voice low with barely restrained suspicion, “why didn’t you say _ours_?” 

Fury kept quiet, unsure what he could say to answer her question. In truth, he didn’t know the answer himself. The only thing he could think of that might _remotely _make sense was that it had something to do with Carol and her merry band of Skrulls. 

He gave a silent groan. _What the hell are you up to? _he asked the image of his future self (or was it not-his future self…? Fury needed to get this straight, and pronto) warily. His mind flashed to a memory of Talos and his family, human skin seamlessly crawling up over green features.

His jaw shifted. _I’ll figure you out, _he vowed, though whether he was addressing his future self, the Skrulls, or the situation in general, he wasn’t sure.

_“There are multiple realities, Peter,” Beck carried on where Fury left off. “This is Earth Dimension 616. I’m from Earth 833.”_

“I’m sorry, hold on, are we just going to _move on_?” Sam demanded. “_Come on_. Time travel is _one _thing, but dimensional travel is another thing entirely. And we’re just going to accept that’s _possible_?”

“Apparently,” Bucky shrugged. He’d long since given up on trying to keep up with the world’s scientific progress.

Sam spluttered in disbelief.

“There’s _no way _that becomes a thing,” he insisted. “Right?”

“Well, Quentin Beck is _right there_, so…”

Shuri snorted. “You two are going to drive even _me _crazy one of these days, and that’s saying something,” she remarked.

“Come on, princess,” Sam cajoled. “_Tell him _that’s not a real thing! You’re a science person, right?”

“A ‘science person’, he says,” Shuri scoffed. “Sure, I’m a_ science person._”

“So?”

Shuri hesitated. “Well, they’re eight years ahead of us. The possibilities are _endless_. I mean, Stark will evidently pioneer _time travel. _They may be different leagues, but is dimensional travel _really _so farfetched? Already, there are theories. I truly would not be surprised if, in eight years, dimensional travel is simply another common occurrence.”

“Or,” T’Challa cut in, “this has nothing to do with science at all, and Mr. Beck’s situation is _far _from common.”

Shuri rolled her eyes, unsurprised to hear her brother challenge her opinion. He had always been more unconcerned with the development of technology, simply satisfied with things as they were. She, on the other hand, was a firm believer in the notion that anything, no matter how functional, could always be further improved in one way or another.

“Are you suggesting _magic _had a hand in this?” Scott demanded, wide-eyed and intrigued.

“Well, we already know magic _exists, _at the very least,” T’Challa pointed out. “And magic strong enough to wipe out _half of all life, _apparently. Admittedly, that might not have been _magic _exactly, but either way, if something like _that_ is possible, then dimensional travel isn’t a stretch at all. The two might even be connected.”

“...Fair enough,” Shuri conceded with a grimace. It still unsettled her to think about the possibility—or rather, the _inevitability, _it seemed—of trillions across the galaxy simply _vanishing. _

“What, so you’re suggesting that the ‘Blip’—or whatever they’ll call it—will cause Quentin Beck to travel to an alternate Earth?”

“Well, the Blip _must _have required a lot of energy—and I mean _a lot. _Perhaps, in causing the Blip, Thanos inadvertently tore a hole in our dimension and allowed Beck to cross over,” T’Challa theorized.

“...you know what, I’ll take it,” Sam shrugged. “It’s a hell of a lot more believable than the idea that _science _is responsible for this.”

Shuri snorted. “What has the universe come to when _magic _is a more likely explanation than _science_?” she muttered incredulously to herself.

“Hey,” Sam exclaimed, scrunching his nose in her direction, “you may be a _science person, _but I’m _not. _I’d rather believe that impossible things like this are _outside _mankind’s territory, thank you very much. It’s better—for my sanity, at least—if I remain under the impression that the ‘impossible’ is an _uncommon _occurrence, invited by otherworldly magic than by our own creations. Our lives are _crazy_ enough as it is.”

_“I’m sorry, you’re saying there’s a _multiverse_?” Peter demanded, grip tightening on his mask as he approached Beck with quick, eager steps. An excited grin tugged on his lips. Without even bothering to wait for a response, he launched into rapid-fire rambling, spitting out his thoughts faster than anyone else could comprehend them, “Because I thought that was just theoretical. I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity. We’re talking about an internal inflation system. How does that even work with all the quantum—?” _

_He cut himself off, turning to Fury and Hill with a wonderstruck expression. “It’s _insane_,” he gushed. _

“Wow,” Bruce whispered, wide-eyed as he processed Peter’s ramblings, “the kid is_ more _ than _ just _ smart. He’s...”

“He’s something special,” Happy said with a smile he would never admit was _ fond. _

“He really is,” Shuri agreed, looking just as impressed.

Peter choked back an overwhelmed, undignified _ squawk _ of embarrassment. “Wow,” he breathed, locking eyes with Ned—who looked _ just _ as dazzled as he did. “_Bruce Banner _ just called me smart. And _ Princess Shuri _ agreed with him. _ Wow_.”

Happy snorted. “What am I, chopped liver?” he asked sarcastically.

Peter just stuck his tongue out at him. “Come on, Hap, you _ know _ what I mean. They’re _ Bruce Banner _ and _ Princess Shuri. _ They’re _ legendary_.” Happy rolled his eyes with a minute twitch of his lips that told Peter he was just playing around, and Peter grinned back. He twisted back around to face Ned again, unable to help but repeat—still dazedly awestruck—“And they called me _ smart_!”

“I know!” Ned mouthed back, practically _ bouncing _in his seat with genuine enthusiasm. 

Ned had always been Peter’s biggest fan, long before Spider-Man and Tony Stark came along. Even whenever Peter was reluctant to believe in _ himself_, Ned would cheer him on—_without fail_—and get excited _ for _him. 

“Oh, my god, Peter,” Ned whispered, on the verge of a squeal. “_Oh, my god._”

Shuri had to suppress an amused laugh at Peter and Ned’s elation. Beyond the amusement, though, it was _longing _that burned in her eyes. 

The fact of the matter was, it was rare that she ever found anyone as smart as her—especially when that someone was _also _as young as her. 

_Damn, _she thought wishfully to herself, eyes searching for Peter and his friends, _I can’t wait to meet him in my timeline. I have a feeling we’re going to get along like a house on fire—or, as the case may be, like a lab on fire. And besides…_

She’d never really had any _actual _friends before. Everyone she knew and interacted with on a regular basis were more her brother’s friends than her own. She didn’t have a meaningful connection with anyone her age, truthfully. Her status as the princess of Wakanda—and a princess who was intelligent_ beyond her years_, with a position as the head of science, no less—had always kept her isolated.

(_Lonely, _even when she wasn’t alone.)

She swallowed. 

Peter and Ned and MJ—they just seemed so _in tune _with each other. So familiar and comfortable and assured in their friendship. Their every interaction—both on- and off-screen—spoke of such an intrinsic and natural _ease _that Shuri couldn’t _help _but ache with longing.

(_That, _she thought, _that is what I’ve been missing._)

Shuri inhaled shakily. She averted her gaze desperately, her jaw _shifting _with every thought and every pang of yearning.

_Stop it, Shuri, _she hissed to herself, blinking rapidly. _You’ve never needed friends before. _(She’d never realized what was absent from her life before.) _You’ve always been fine on your own._

(_But, _she reminded herself, thinking of evenings spent laboring away in her lab, tinkering around with her brother’s suits, _just because something works doesn’t mean it can’t be improved._)

(Maybe friends would be good for her. _More _than good.)

_Peter’s grin faltered when he caught the blank, dumbstruck expressions on both agents’ faces. “S-sorry,” he stammered. He schooled his glee slightly. “It’s really cool,” he muttered as if to defend himself. _

_When he turned back to Beck, the caped hero was smiling at him. “Don’t ever apologize for being the smartest one in the room,” he advised._

_The grin returned to Peter’s face. _

Peter’s breath hitched at Beck’s effortless compliment and his own obvious reaction. It was just one more way in which Beck had tried to imitate Mr. Stark: in contrast to Fury and Hill’s cold, intimidating demeanors, Quentin Beck had exuded support and goodwill. Beck had stood up for him; he’d _defended_ him to the SHIELD agents who’d only seen him as the embodiment of his powers and his potential—who’d only thought of him as a weapon in their arsenal. 

Fury had _demanded _him to step up to bat, to go along with their plans like a good little soldier. Beck, meanwhile, had been a _comforting _presence amidst Peter’s uncertainties, reaching out time after time with friendly smiles and patient advice and Peter hadn’t been able to _help _believing him.

All Peter had wanted was a mentor. (Mr. Stark’s death had left Peter with a gaping hole in his heart and no one to fill it.) And Beck… Beck had _played _on that. He’d served himself up as another mentor, someone Peter could trust and depend on, and like a child desperate for guidance, Peter had let him. 

Peter exhaled shakily. _It’s over, _he reminded—_reassured_—himself. _He’s gone. He can’t fool you anymore. He can’t _hurt _you anymore. _

_You’re safe, _he told himself. He thought of his friends’ soothing whispers earlier, rousing him from his panic attack. _You’re not alone. _He thought of Ned’s earnest support and his lighthearted jokes. He thought of MJ’s smiling eyes and the warmth of her hand in his own. He thought of Happy’s signature squeeze of his shoulder and his murmurs of _it’s about you finding your strength._

Happy had told him to let EDITH share his truth. He’d told him to let the world see Beck through _his _eyes.

_ Well, _ Peter thought, _ this is Beck through my eyes. This is how I saw Beck. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. _

For the Avengers to see Beck as _he_ did, they had to first see Beck as _ the good guy, _ as Peter’s _ salvation_—when, in truth, Beck had only ever sought to be his damnation.

_Fury scoffed again. Hill just turned towards the computer she was standing by with a clear of her throat and a pointed, “_Anyway_.” With a few keystrokes, Hill brought forth a holographic projection of a black hole. The image hovered above the table beside Beck and Peter._

_“They were born in stable orbits within black holes,” Beck began, the projection shifting as he told his story. “Creatures formed from the primary elements: air, water, fire, earth.” Four caricatures appeared in the air, representing each of the different elements as listed by Beck. _

_Peter watched, entranced by the moving figures in the projection—gaze focused on the clearly blue-tinted caricature of the water monster he’d previously encountered._

_“The science division had a… technical name,” Beck said with a shake of his head. He, too, seemed to be fixated on the caricatures—except his gaze was fastened on the fire monster. “We just called them Elementals."_

“Ah, the ‘Elementals’,” Bucky noted, remembering Peter’s vague introduction to the concept upon the appearance of the water monster. “So _that’s _where the name comes from.”

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed, mustering a smile. He felt a little steadier now that he was letting himself believe in Happy’s words of reassurance; now that he’d made up his mind to let the Avengers experience everything as he had. It was the only way his truth could run free, after all. “Yeah, that’s where I got the term Elementals from.”

Bucky hummed, giving Peter a brief nod. “So there _are _more than just the two Elementals that we’ve seen so far,” he summarized, shooting Scott a triumphant look that lacked any real smugness. The worry in his eyes betrayed his true feelings on the matter. “I’m assuming the creature representing ‘air’ is the ‘cyclone with a face’ that Fury keeps talking about?"

Peter nodded. “That’s the one.”

“So, what, that leaves the Fire Elemental?”

Another nod.

Bucky winced. “Fire, huh,” he whistled. “That does _not _sound pleasant. Jesus.”

Peter gave a weak laugh. “It definitely wasn’t,” he agreed absentmindedly, his mind traitorously wandering to his first encounter with the ‘Fire Elemental’—or, rather, Beck’s manifestation of such a creature. Even now, knowing what he knew about the illusionary origins of the Elementals, he shuddered at the thought of that battle.

It had certainly _felt _real.

_“Versions of them exist across our mythologies,” Hill said, having approached the duo by now. As if on cue, images from legends and stories replaced the Elementals’ caricatures._

_“Turns out,” Beck took over again, “the myths are _real_.”_

_“Like Thor,” Peter piped up. “Thor was a myth, and… now I study him in my physics class.”_

“Oh?” Thor was grinning smugly, shoulders broadened with pride. “_Do_ you now?”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. “Well, yeah,” he admitted. “My physics teacher is kind of a fan. She’s definitely fascinated by the fact that you, uh, _exist_.”

Thor’s grin widened. “Is that so?” he hummed.

Tony gave an exaggerated groan. “Great,” he complained, “you just _had _to say that, didn’t you? His ego is going to be completely _insufferable_ now.”

Rhodey snorted. “Says the most egotistical man in the _world_,” he jibed.

“Oh, hush, you,” Tony dismissed, pushing Rhodey away with a playful shove. “Speaking of which—you definitely study me in class, too, right? It is a _physics _class, after all. And I’m _Tony Stark, _come on.”

Rhodey heaved a long-suffering sigh and shook his head as if to say _you see what I have to deal with?_

Peter bit back a giggle. It was… _ nice, _ seeing Tony and Rhodey interact like this: falling back on their typical banter and taunts, even despite the years that divided them. Sure, it was a little sad, too—it hit him with a stark _ pang _ of longing—but it was also _ nice. _

Peter had _ missed _ Tony’s particular brand of haughtiness mixed with self-deprecation. It was just so purely _ Tony. _

“Sure,” he said indulgently, trying not to grin too widely (or too tearfully). He pushed aside the thought of Quentin Beck for now and locked it away, resolving to simply savor this moment as it came. “My teacher is a fan of yours, too.”

Tony fist-pumped in celebration. “I _knew _it,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too happy about it if I were you,” MJ shot down. “Ms. Warren might be a fan of Stark Industries, but she’s absolutely _obsessed _with Dr. Banner.”

Bruce choked on air.

“That’s true,” Peter agreed thoughtfully. “She even put your picture up on her wall, Dr. Banner—right beside a number of other famous scientists, including Newton, Bohr, and Einstein. She talks about you and your theories at least twice as much as she talks about Mr. Stark and Thor _combined_.”

Tony and Thor both gawked in dismay. 

Bruce, too gawked—though his expression was filled with shock instead. “I—you— really?” the scientist stuttered. “I’m… on your classroom wall?” His voice was small, breathless, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. 

Peter’s bright, amused eyes softened. “You are,” he confirmed. “And Ms. Warren isn’t the only one who admires you. Your research is _incredible. _I mean, _seriously, _you’re _insane_—you’re, like, _the_ _most renowned _scientist of your generation. Your work on anti-electron collisions is completely unparalleled.” _Not to mention your renewed research into gamma radiation that, in my timeline, eventually allowed you to merge your intelligence with Hulk’s strength. _“Your brain is _amazing, _Dr. Banner, Ned and I are both _huge fans_—”

“Pete, kid,” Happy interrupted his rambling with a snort. He nudged Peter gently and gestured at Bruce. “I think he gets it.”

Peter flushed, finally realizing what he’d done. He peeked at Bruce out of the corner of his eyes and found the scientist gaping dumbly at him, his jaw practically on the floor.

Peter coughed awkwardly. “Uh, yeah,” he tried to save himself, recorking the bottle of his emotions. Truth be told, he'd been waiting to geek out over Bruce Banner since their first meeting, but there had never been an appropriate moment—the first time he’d been introduced to Dr. Banner, after all, had been in the middle of Mr. Stark’s _funeral, _where Peter had been too upset to even care about meeting one of his idols_. _“As you can probably tell, I, uh, I’m a really big fan.”

“_Oh_,” Bruce whispered, voice dumbfounded and a little awed as he struggled to recollect himself in the face of Peter’s unadulterated enthusiasm. He didn’t think he had ever gained so much attention for being, well, _him _before. The Hulk was used to receiving recognition and acknowledgement; Bruce Banner was not. 

He used to think no one _cared _about Bruce—he was only useful to the Avengers as the Hulk, after all. Bruce was… he was just an ordinary _guy. _

_Hulk_ was the special one.

But Peter seemed to think that Ordinary Guy Bruce was special, too. _Peter_ seemed to care.

Bruce swallowed. It was… a foreign realization, and one that made his heart _swell. _

He couldn’t help the tiny, hesitant grin that unfurled across his lips. “I... _thank you,_” he managed to choke out, though he was sure he sounded a little like a constipated seal. 

Peter smiled shyly and looked away, a little embarrassed by his own lack of restraint.

Beside him, Happy chuckled quietly to himself. He could tell Peter found his own actions awkward and mortifying, but Happy knew better. Happy recognized that look on Bruce’s face; he could spot the gratitude and flustered _joy _in it.

_Trust Peter to lighten the mood with one of his trademark rambles, _Happy thought, unable to deny the fondness that welled up inside him. _That’s just like him._

_“_These_ myths are threats,” Fury said darkly, rounding the table and sitting down in front of one of the many computers. _

_“They first materialized on my Earth many years ago,” Beck explained, the hologram switching to an image of another globe. “We mobilized and fought them, but with each battle, they grew—got _stronger_. I was part of the last battalion left trying to stop them.” As if to punctuate his words, tendrils of fiery red spread across the Earth in the projection, until nearly everything was devoured. “_All_ we did was delay the inevitable.”_

_“The Elementals are here now, attacking the same coordinates. Our satellites confirm it,” Hill announced._

_“So thank Mr. Beck for destroying the other three,” Fury said. “There's only one left: fire.”_

_“The strongest of them all,” Beck whispered, staring up at the rendering of his Earth, now completely red. “The one that destroyed _my _Earth.” The Earth began to crumble in accompaniment to his words. _

_Beck’s gaze lowered to the ground, heavy and burdened. “It’s the one that took my family.”_

“Oh, _shit,_” Bucky breathed. His earlier assessment of “not pleasant” was a huge, _huge _understatement. “The Fire Elemental _destroyed _his Earth? That isn’t hyperbole, is it?”

Peter pressed his lips together into a thin line, the warmth that had washed over him as he’d raved about Dr. Banner’s brilliance fleeing rapidly. _God, _he thought with a groan, _I just can’t get a break, can I? _

No matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to escape Beck’s influence. _Everything _reminded him about the lies Beck had told.

“I’m sorry, but— _why_ isn’t Fury calling us in?” Steve demanded, audibly frustrated. 

“Cap’s right,” Sam seconded. “I mean, you’re up against an enemy that has _already _destroyed _one _Earth. Shouldn’t the Avengers get involved?”

Peter shook his head stiffly. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said honestly, and what he meant was: _I don’t know where the Avengers were. _

What he _really _meant was: _I needed you, and you weren’t there._

Steve sighed, deflating immediately at the sight of Peter’s distress. “I just… _Why _wouldn’t we show up?” he whispered.

“None of us can speak for your future selves,” Happy stepped in, “but I don’t think I have to remind you that the Avengers only play in the major leagues. And at this point… no one could have expected the magnitude of the Elementals’ impact.” _Beck’s impact. _“I mean, we’ve gone through the Blip. We’ve already been through hell and back. Half of us have _died _once before. What could possibly measure up to that, right?”

He snorted, a palpable bitterness audible in the hard edge of his tone. “We all needed to pick up the pieces,” he reminisced, “after Thanos tore us apart.” He paused, glancing sidelong at Peter. “Some of us are _still _picking up the pieces.”

And what _he_ meant was: _Peter didn’t get a chance to breathe. He was thrust right back into the heat of battle, and he didn’t have a team to back him up. None of you showed up._

_Peter looked down, too, avoiding the sight of the vanishing Earth. He caught sight of Beck fiddling absentmindedly with the ring on his finger. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. _

_“And it will be in Prague in approximately 48 hours,” Hill warned, shattering the moment. _

_Fury straightened in his seat. “We have one mission: kill it. And you’re coming with us.” There was no remorse, no regret and no reluctance in his voice as he delivered his decree._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize _sending teenagers to their deaths_ was in our mission statement,” Tony sneered, sarcasm dripping from his voice. His eyes burned twin holes into the screen. “What the _hell_, Fury?”

“And here I thought you hero types were supposed to be _honorable_,” Loki hissed, backing Tony up. A part of him was appalled to find himself on Stark’s side of _any _argument, but a bigger part of him could only focus on his growing indignation over SHIELD’s treatment of Peter. His anger flared on behalf of this kid who was but a _stranger_ to him not even one hour ago—a kid who had offered him the chance to start over, free of judgement. 

Loki glanced down at Peter and frowned deeply when he saw Peter’s eyes, glazed over in a haze of what seemed to be grief. 

He returned his gaze to the duo of Fury and Hill and _glared. _“Sending a _child _to do a _man’s _job is certainly _not honorable_,” he added.

(Loki was too caught up in his own rage to notice it, but Thor _beamed _with pride at the sight of his brother sticking up for someone who wasn’t himself.)

_Peter’s head snapped up in disbelief. He glanced uncertainly between Fury and Hill. “I’m sorry, did you say _Prague_?” he spluttered with a nervous chuckle. “Mr. Fury, this all seems like big-time—you know, _huge_ superhero kind of stuff. And, uh,”—he glanced back at the table, still empty now that Beck’s Earth had vanished from the air above it—“I mean, I’m just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, sir.”_

_“Bitch, please,” came Fury’s immediate retort, “you’ve been to _space_.”_

Scott _choked._

“You’ve been to _space_!?” Sam echoed incredulously, spluttering in disbelief.

Happy reared back and shot him an incredulous stare. “He’s gone up against the Mad Titan, an _intergalactic tyrant,_” he reminded Sam. “He was involved in a battle where _half of the universe _was at stake. Where did you guys _think _that happened? In our own backyard?”

Sam blinked. “Oh. _Right_.”

“To be fair,” Pepper mused, “the aliens _did _come to Earth first. And Thanos later brought the battle to Earth, too. Most of the Avengers only fought Thanos _here_, on Earth, in the end.”

“Wait, _really_?” Steve asked. “Why wouldn’t we face Thanos _together_?” 

Pepper gritted her teeth and looked away. _Because there was no more ‘we’ at all, _she thought, sparing Bucky and the other 2016 travelers an embittered glance. _Because you weren’t a united front. _

“Let’s call it extenuating circumstances,” she said finally, her voice strained. “Only Peter, Tony and Doctor Strange actually went up to space.” _Not counting the Guardians who joined them midway, that is._

Rhodey’s lips tugged downwards into a grim frown. “And only Tony returned.”

Tony inhaled sharply. He remembered, all of a sudden, Pepper blurting out that his future self had _watched _Peter die. “Shit,” he muttered. He felt like he’d been cursing more than anything else, over the last half hour. “_Shit. _Peter died… in _space_?” 

That, for some reason, was the image that made him want to _hurl_ more than anything else had so far. The thought of Peter, a _teenager,_ dying somewhere among the unknown galaxies, with an endless ocean of stars above him and an unfamiliar ground beneath him, painted such a tragic scene in his mind. 

Tony thought of the clip they’d seen of people vanishing in Midtown High’s gym, a flurry of chaos. He thought of _Peter’s _ashes, fluttering away into the vast cosmos. He thought of Peter, lost forever in space, away from home, and he had to swallow down the bile rising up his throat. 

_“I know, but that was an _accident_,” Peter rushed to explain, close to panicking. He bridged the space between himself and Fury in a few rapid steps. “Sir, come on. There’s gotta be someone else you can use!” _

Steve straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing as he waited, on edge, for Fury’s response to that. Would he finally get his answer to why the Avengers _weren’t helping_?

(Why _he _wasn’t helping?)

(He knew that Peter and MJ had both insisted that in 2024, he was no longer “in the shape to go out as a hero,” but what could _possibly _be bad enough to stop him from fulfilling his duty? _Especially _when an Elemental threatening the destruction of the world was at hand?)

_Peter paused, visibly racking his brain, before he shrugged and offered, “What about Thor?”_

_“Off-world,” Fury answered._

_“Okay, um… Doctor Strange,” he suggested._

_Hill’s rejection was swift—“Unavailable.”_

_“Captain Marvel?” he threw out, growing audibly desperate._

“You _know _Captain Marvel?” Fury demanded immediately. He straightened abruptly, as if yanked by a leash, and shot Peter a startled, interrogatory glare. 

“Who’s Captain Marvel?” Clint piped up. Several others murmured their agreement.

Fury effortlessly ignored the question as he waited for Peter’s answer, his narrowed eyes firmly telling Peter that he wouldn’t be able to get out of explaining this one so easily.

Peter chewed his lip, momentarily quiet as he glanced between the Fury in the room and himself on the screen. At the time, even as he’d asked the question, he’d _known_, of course, that it was a long-shot—Carol’s departure from Earth was still vivid in his memory, after all. 

But he’d been desperate and stupid and _naive_, and he’d _hoped _against _hope _that she could make it back in time to lend him a hand. He’d always admired her, after all—he’d thought highly of her ever since he learned that she’d been the one to rescue Tony from a slow and painful death aboard the _Benatar._

In truth, he idolized her.

“Yeah,” Peter answered finally. His lips twitched, though his eyes remained distant and far away—lost in thought. He could still picture the friendly warmth in her eyes when she’d arrived on the battlefield in a burst of color, eclipsing every other blast and explosion around them. Despite everything—despite the noise and chaos and _danger_—she’d looked him in the eye, let him know he could trust her, and made him feel _safe._

The certainty and confidence in her voice still lulled him to sleep whenever he had nightmares. _Hi, Peter Parker, _the memory of her voice would murmur in his ear during moments of panic, enveloping him in a safe haven of her own making. _You got something for me? _

He smiled and let the memory fade away into nothing more than a _feeling, _snug and cozy. Even now, she reassured him like nothing else could. She was the embodiment of strength and power, of _salvation_; she’d saved his mentor, and then she’d saved him, too.

“Yeah,” Peter repeated. “I know Carol.” He paused, his smile broadening into a small smirk. “And I gotta say, I never would have guessed that _the _Nick Fury wouldn’t be able to eat his toast if it’s been cut diagonally.”

There was a pause, a moment of stunned stillness, and then—

Clint _guffawed_—naturally. Natasha was much more graceful and discrete about her amusement, but Peter couldn’t help but notice the mirth dancing in her eyes, too. 

Fury let his head drop an _inch, _the only visible sign of weakness he would ever allow himself in public, and groaned out loud. “You _had _to air my secrets, kid?” he groused.

“Just be glad I’m not telling everyone the _real _reason you need that eyepatch,” Peter threatened.

Fury _stilled. _His one eye twitched violently.

“What do you mean by the _real _reason—!?”

“Why are you saying it like _that_—”

“Wait, _what_?” Clint burst out, unable to keep his silence at that news. “_The kid _knows how you lost your eye!? But for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always refused to tell _anyone _what happened! Every time I ask, you just keep going on and on about ‘classified’ and ‘need-to-know’ and _it happened in the line of duty, Barton, and that’s all I’ll ever say about it._”

“Damn, kid, how’d you get your hands on _that _secret?” Hill asked, appearing genuinely impressed. 

Beside her, Fury looked like he was wondering the same thing.

“I didn’t think he’d ever tell _anyone _what happened,” Natasha added, amused. “The most he’s ever said about it to me is that _the last time he trusted someone, he lost an eye._”

“Oh, believe me, he said the same thing to me,” Peter snickered, thinking of Goose. _Who knew the Director of SHIELD was so dramatic?_ “Luckily for me, Carol has a soft spot for me. And she _loves _to gossip.”

Fury’s eyes narrowed. “Carol _told _you?” he demanded, sounding more than a little disgruntled.

Peter hummed. “Oh, yeah,” he confirmed, far too gleefully to be healthy.

Clint’s expression mirrored his glee. “Oh, my god,” he chortled, “kid, you _need _to tell us. I’m _dying _to know.”

“That makes two of us,” Tony seconded immediately. “That sounds like a secret that’s _way _too interesting to pass up.”

“_Parker, _don’t you _dare_—” Fury growled.

“Sorry, Mr. Barton, Mr. Stark,” Peter said sheepishly. “I guess you two will just have to try to wear Fury down.”

Fury paused, eyebrows knitted in thought for a total of two seconds—_he’s not going to say anything, not even to Stark?_—before he said firmly, “_Never gonna happen._”

Clint and Tony let out twin sighs of dismay. Even Natasha looked momentarily disappointed.

Fury, on the other hand, seemed almost… _pleased. _All he had to show for it, though, was a _mildly _satisfied grunt and the most minute of smirks. He would never admit it to anyone, but he _trusted_ Carol’s judgement. So if she’d been willing to put _her_ trust in Peter and tell him about Goose, tell him _anything _about what they went through together in 1995, then Peter must have done _something _to be worthy of that.

(And from what he’d seen, from what he’d _heard_, she’d been right.)

_Fury looked downright _insulted_. “Don’t invoke her name.”_

“Damn,” Clint whistled, “who _is _this Captain Marvel, to warrant a reaction like that? Or—Carol, was it?”

Peter smiled a secret smile. “She’s one of us,” he said simply. “The _strongest _one of us.”

Clint’s eyes blew wide open. “The _strongest_!?” he demanded. “By whose account?”

“Surely, you’re mistaken,” Thor added, just as shocked. All around the room, everyone eyed Peter in similar stunned surprise. “Maybe she simply hasn’t gone up against _me _yet,” he boasted with a haughty laugh. 

“Or the Hulk,” Tony chimed in. “There’s no way, right?”

Peter merely smiled.

Tony—and everyone else—_groaned_. 

“_Come on, _kid,” Sam needled. “You gotta give us _something_, man. _Is _she stronger than our resident powerhouses?”

“Impossible,” Thor scoffed.

“Oh, it’s possible,” Fury snorted. He’d never forget the way Carol halted an entire _wave _of missiles all on her own. “_Very _possible.”

_Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. When he met Fury’s gaze again, it was with an earnest, pleading expression. “Sir, look, I really wanna help. I do.” He swallowed. “But if my aunt finds out I left my class trip, she’s gonna _kill _me. And if I’m seen like _this_”—he waved a hand at his get-up, red and blue and distinctly _Spider-Man_—“in Europe _after_ the Washington Monument, my whole class will figure out who I am, and then — and then the whole _world_ will figure out who I am, and then I’m done.”_

_Peter looked so distressed, so _hopeless_._

Peter swallowed. His words had come true. The world _had _figured out who he was. These days, he could no longer roam the streets without _some _sort of disguise—whether that was a hood over his face or a wig to hide his distinctive brown curls.

He’d become a fugitive. For the sake of his aunt, for the safety of Ned and MJ and _everyone_ else he cared about, Peter Parker had to be dead to the world.

_That _was his reality now.

“Hey.”

Peter winced at the sound of MJ’s voice cutting through the white noise in his head, but when he turned to face her, there was no recrimination on her face, only fondness. She was still smiling at him as if she hadn’t just found out that he’d wanted to run away from it all—his responsibilities, his duties, _Spider-Man. _

“Em, I…”

“Shh,” she murmured as soothingly as she could. ‘Soothing’ didn’t exactly come natural to her, but for Peter, she was willing to try. “This doesn’t change anything. You’re still _you. _You’re still a hero at your core.”

His mouth fell open, stunned by MJ’s easy acceptance. He’d been terrified to imagine how she would react to the realization that he’d been ready to leave the next “Big Bad” to someone else, but here she was, looking at him as if nothing had changed. As if he was still every bit the hero he wanted to be. 

“But...” But he _wasn’t_. He’d been a coward. Worse yet, he’d been a _selfish _coward. “I – I didn’t want to help,” he said desperately. “I _turned Fury down._”

MJ shrugged. Beside her, Ned seemed just as unfazed. “That doesn’t change who you are,” she insisted, and Ned nodded rapidly beside her. “That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“You’re just _a kid, _Pete,” Happy chimed in. “More than that, you’re a kid who’s still readjusting to life after _five years _of being Blipped away. Fury shouldn’t have asked that of you in the first place.”

Peter swallowed. Not for the first time, he looked at his friends, at Ned and MJ and Happy surrounding him with their unconditional support, and wondered what he’d done to deserve them.

_There was a long beat of silence. “Okay,” Fury finally said, but there was no compassion or sympathy in his eyes. “I understand,” he lied._

_Peter clearly hadn’t expected that. “I’m sorry, what?”_

_“Why don’t you get back before your teachers _miss you _and _become suspicious_?” he said rhetorically, tone condescending. His face contorted into a smile so patronizing it hardly looked like a smile at all. _

_Fury twisted around with a call of Dmitri’s name—“Dmitri! Take him back to the hotel, please.”_

_The bearded man stepped forward and nodded._

_“Thank you, Mr. Fury,” Peter said sincerely. He backed away, the inner turmoil evident in his conflicted gaze, before he paused long enough to say, “And, uh, good luck.”_

Rhodey groaned miserably. “_Why_ do I get the feeling that this isn’t the last we’ll be seeing of you, Fury?”

“Because it probably isn’t,” Fury admitted.

“Knowing you,” Clint snorted, “it _definitely _isn’t.”

“Well, at least you’re self-aware enough to recognize it,” Rhodey said sarcastically. The steel in his eyes and in his voice never left, telling Fury in no uncertain terms that he was _far _from forgiving Fury’s overstepping of boundaries—even though _logically,_ it had yet to occur.

_“See you, kid,” Beck bid him goodbye as Peter walked past, but his gaze lingered on the vigilante._

_“Yeah,” Peter breathed, smiling apologetically, “see you.”_

Peter flinched at the sound of the nickname _Kid_ coming from Quentin Beck. 

He’d eagerly chased after it back then, desperate for some semblance of the mentorship and comfort Tony had offered him, but… it was so, so _wrong, _from Beck. It was nothing like Mr. Stark’s utter of _‘kid’_—scolding, exasperated, fond, and underneath it all, _proud_. 

Beck’s held none of that fondness, none of that pride. Beck was _nothing_ like Mr. Stark.

(Peter couldn’t believe he’d ever thought anyone, much less Quentin Beck, could possibly be _enough _after Tony Stark.)

_“Bye, ma’am!” he called out, offering Maria Hill a backwards wave._

_“Yeah.”_

_Peter walked out of the secret headquarters, not once looking back. For once, he had his own life, his own desires, in sight and in focus. For once, he wanted to put himself first._

_(Dmitri, however, _did _look back, sharing a meaningful glance with Nick Fury that did not go unnoticed by select members of the audience.)_

“_Fury,_” Natasha groaned, already inordinately fond of the nervous, stammering kid who just wanted to have a childhood. (Who _deserved _that childhood.) “What the _hell_ do you think you’re planning?”

Peter chewed his lip, a little dismayed at yet _another _sign he’d missed. Fury had never intended to let him have his peaceful class trip at all. 

The disappointed, disgruntled part of him felt a little resentful; _that_ part of him wanted nothing more than to let Natasha tear into Fury and give him a piece of her mind. He knew exactly what Natasha thought of child soldiers, after all—even if he would never truly let them mold him into a _soldier_.

But another part of him _understood _why Fury had thought it was necessary to hijack Peter’s trip. Besides, if Fury _hadn’t_...

_—It’s about you finding your strength, about you overcoming Beck’s illusions, and about you becoming your own hero—_

Peter shook his head.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” he said finally, making up his mind. He waved off Natasha’s simmering wrath with a nervous chuckle before Fury could try to defend his future self’s actions yet again. He broke off for a moment, long enough to give Happy a firm, grateful nod. He didn’t try to acknowledge Happy’s earlier rare emotional moment _verbally_, knowing full well that Happy grew uncomfortable at the mere prospect of heart-to-hearts, but the appreciation was _there _nonetheless, a tangible feeling in the air. 

Happy nodded back, patting Peter’s shoulder in a similarly unspoken _anytime, kid, I’m here, _and Peter’s lips quirked into a grin. In the end, they didn’t _need _words to communicate that they had each other’s backs.

“It was a harsh wake-up call, yeah,” Peter picked up where he left off, spinning around to redirect his attention to the sofa full of SHIELD agents, “but I _needed_ it—I needed the reminder. To become a better hero, a more responsible one. Someone the people can _depend on_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the promised one-on-one Iron Dad interaction
> 
> so... I have not had a chance to proofread this chapter yet, so feel free to point out any errors in grammar or continuity. 
> 
> And I know I haven't been as active lately in the comments section (so sorry guys), but know that I read and appreciate every single one of your comments, so always feel free to let me know what you think down below or on Tumblr ([@iron-loyalty](https://iron-loyalty.tumblr.com)) :)


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